


bird's nest

by orphan_account



Series: random winterfalcon fics [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Amnesia, Angel Sam Wilson, Fluff and Angst, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Ghost Bucky Barnes, Ghosts, Guardian Angels, Jinx Steve Rogers, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Platonic Soulmates, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sam Wilson Has Wings, Sam Wilson has PTSD, Sam Wilson's Wings, Sam Wilson-centric, Urban Fantasy, Winged Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22392592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “'It is', Sam admits. He crashes down on the couch beside him and runs a hand over his beard. 'And I mean, for some people, it is. Thor and Brunnhilde, that’s how it is for them, and these kids, Riri and Karen.' He tosses an arm over the back of the couch and considers it. 'It’s love but a different kind of love for everyone.' With him and Steve, it’s platonic; he’s known so ever since he was a boy and first realized what the everlasting warmth beneath his breast was.Sam looks over at Bucky and blinks. 'Why do you ask?'Bucky shrugs, not meeting his eye. 'Just curious.' He takes his plate and disappears with a puff of smoke, reappearing in the kitchen moments later. 'You want anything?'Sam stares, watching the way Bucky moves throughout his kitchen with a familiarity that makes his heart ache. 'No. No, man, I’m good.'". . .Sam being greenlit for Senior Angel is quickly undermined by the realization that his apartment is haunted.Needless to say, Sam's not amused.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Series: random winterfalcon fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794475
Comments: 55
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! So a couple of notes.  
> I don't know how often Imma be updating this, but I'm aiming for once a week since classes have started up again. We'll see how it goes.  
> This is basically canon but with guardian angels and other magical creatures, and it takes place sometime before Civil War.  
> There will be some overlap between DC/Marvel because I needed more wing-themed characters. I'm not gonna tag it because they'll mostly be cameos tho.  
> Okay, that's that. I'm really excited because I wrote this like six months ago, then deleted it and later got really sad because I liked the premise of it. So two weeks ago, I wondered if I could get it back from the trash, and I did, so now I'm editing and polishing it up. I really hope you guys like it.  
> Let's get to it.

It’s not exactly traditional for guardian angels to befriend their charges.

It tends to lead to messy situations, and, in the case of mortal charges, often winds up inhibiting the angel.

And Sam knows this, knows this like he knows the feel of a cool breeze tickling his feathers during a pre-dawn flight. But Sam’s never been one for tradition.

Besides, Steve is too busy almost accidentally killing himself every five seconds and being a walking symbol of liberty to really meet people. Sam figures he can use a friend because this is the third night this week Steve’s cried himself to sleep, and it’s actually starting to make Sam ache on his end of the bond.

"Don’t do it", Clint sighs one night in the Senior Lounge. "Give him the chance and he’s gonna break your heart."

Sam just sips at his smoothie and flaps his wings, blowing Clint’s Plumage and Grooming catalogue to the floor. "How’s Nat doing?"

Clint smiles, teeth and all. "Fuck you, Wilson. And she’s fine, thanks for asking; she wants you to stop by for another soul reading.”

In all honesty, Sam knows he should trust him. Clint may not be the best guardian at times, but he has been at this since he was a teenager. And anybody who’s anybody can tell you how attached first-timers can be with assignments.

“Just take it easy, Sammy.” Brunnhilde lifts a shimmery, downy wing and drapes it over his shoulders, pulling him close against her side. Sam just hums, comforted by the ever soothing presence of her pegasus wings, and closes his eyes. She’s been at this longer than either of them, but she’s a bit more empathetic to Sam’s plight, given that she’s been waiting for her greenlight for a thousand years.

“I’ll be careful”, he eventually says, smirking at the audible sigh both Brunnhilde and Clint give. He knows he’s treading dangerous ground, but Sam figures he can make it work. He  _ has _ to make it work. On top of being an emotional disaster, Steve also happens to be a jinx. It stands to reason that Sam would put in a little overtime for him.

Anyhow, Sam tucks away his wings, goes for a jog, and "accidentally" befriends Captain America. Next thing Sam knows, he’s a wanted fugitive and bunk buddies with a nonagenarian.

"Honestly", Steve says in his hospital bed, with a grin that’s more grimace than anything. "That went way better than I expected."

Sam leaves him his iPod, then jogs back home. He’d lie and say he was considering asking for a reassignment, but he already knows he’s gonna love this idiot ‘til they’re both dead.

He sends a report up to HQ, then crashes onto his couch with the full intent to stay there until his body melds into the cushions. Sam stretches, allowing his wings to spill out of his back and over the back of his couch; he, sighs, and kicks his feet up on the table.

"God, please don’t whip your dick out, I was just about to go to sleep."

Sam opens his eyes, sitting across from him, there’s a man the color of the Eastern River in the middle of winter; the man nods and says, “Hey”, and the movement highlights the fact that the man is made more of wisps of air than flesh and blood.

Sam shrieks, and the electrical grid of the entire neighborhood short circuits. 

. . .

The ghost’s name, as he comes to learn, is James. Only, once Sam calls him that, he gets a little upset, which eventually draws them both to the conclusion that the ghost prefers to be called “Bucky”.

Anyway, Bucky’s name just about the only thing Sam learns. At first, he thinks Buckys just being stingy, but then he realizes Bucky doesn’t have anything concrete after 1945.

His short term memory isn’t much better. They have to run through the “James vs Bucky” routine six times, over a span of two weeks, before his memory makes room for Sam.

Sam thought that’d be better, but as it turns out, Bucky with his memory is just as much of an ass as he is without it.

"So what’s with the wings?", Bucky asks one night, watching Sam shave, disinterest overt in his eyes. "Do they like...come off?"

"No", Sam says, wincing as he thinks back to the feel of his metal wings being destroyed. Brunnhilde kept telling him to just use his real ones. Needless to say, he’s happy he hadn’t listened.

"Do ghosts need to shave?", is Bucky’s next question. Then, eyes amused, "Do you shave your wings?"

Sam slams the door shut, and Bucky, of course, just steps right through it. Bucky blinks, staring confusedly until a light blush creeps onto his cheeks.

"Listen, Swayze”, Sam starts, amused as Bucky attempts to phase back through the door. “Do you think you can take the night off creeping?" He presses his towel against his face and watches Bucky in the mirror. "My bud’s checking out of the hospital, and I’m really not in the mood to explain…” He gestures in Bucky’s general direction. “This.”

Bucky turns back around, suddenly interested. "Your bud." Bucky floats into the air, and the overhead light flickers. "That’d be that...charge you’re always talking about, right?"

Sam grits his teeth. He turns off the sink and narrows his eyes "Yes."

"Why’s your charge in the hospital? Isn’t it your job to stop shit like that from happening?

"Yes." He tosses the towel over the towel rack and sighs. "It’s a little hard to do, though, when your charge is a jinx."

Bucky goes silent for a minute. "Your charge is a jinx?"

Sam purses his lips. He can feel his feathers prickling, an overwhelming need to act in defense. It’s not Steve’s fault. He can’t help it if his propensity for bad luck and righteousness come together in a volatile blend that never fails to get him into trouble. "Yes.”

Bucky cackles. Literally, cackles. Bouncing shoulders, watery eyes, wheezing breaths, and everything. Sam just crosses his arms over his chest and glares, and Bucky keeps laughing, even as he turns and disappears through the wall, this time with little effort.

Asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: So I've just finished posting this, and I'm looking back and realizing there's a lot of vagueness in this in terms of just about everything.   
> If there are some things that don't seem to make sense or need clarifying, it's not you, I promise. This fic needed some severe editing/expansion, and I didn't realize that until I was about halfway through posting. Long story short, there apparently was a reason I deleted this, with that reason being that I knew I wasn't gonna sit my ass down and take the time to give this the proper attention/polishing it needed before going up. Mortal of the story? I need to start listening to myself lol.  
> That being said, I've still got a schedule, and I'm already behind (it should not have taken me this long to complete this, it's ridiculous), so I'm gonna heed to the age old moral of Meet the Robinsons and keep moving the fuck forward. If you need some things cleared up, I will be happy to do so, just drop a comment, and I'll try to reply as soon as I can.   
> And lol, happy readings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a few of the Angels ages have been changed so just keep that in mind while you're reading 😂😂😂

He takes to spending a lot of time outside the house. Because as lovely a flat as it is, Sam has neither the patience nor the desire to deal with the jackass of a ghost that’s taken residence there.  
With Angel In Training classes starting up again, he figures it’d work out anyway. It’s his first year teaching, and according to office gossip, the first year’s always the roughest, so he plans to really put in work. Between that and his time at the VA, he figures his unfortunate rooming situation would take the back seat.  
And it probably would’ve. But Bucky apparently isn’t the type of ghost that stays at home, ruffling cupboards and knocking over shit.  
He does, unfortunately, carry an unceasing chill with him. And wherever Sam goes, he goes, so that just means Sam’s freezing ninety percent of the time. He takes delight in the fact that it’s afflicting Bucky, too, though. There’s always a coating of frost or ice clinging to his skin, and, no matter how many blankets he covers himself in, he can never seem to get warm. Sam would feel bad for the guy if he wasn’t, you know, a dick.  
“What are we doing again?”, Bucky asks, head cocked curiously to the side as Sam straps on his Big Angel vest.  
“I’m teaching Junior Angels what to do when their charge is in danger”, Sam mutters and adjusts a button with a pair of wings onto his vest. He smirks, points a finger at him, and says, “And you’re stalking me, for whatever reason”.  
“If I was gonna stalk anyone, pretty sure it’d be someone with nice wings”, Bucky murmurs in return before phasing through the floor. And Sam sulks for a minute because he and Brunnhilde just groomed each other a few nights before, and Clint had said thought their wings looked kind of nice.  
“Mr. Wilson! Mr. Wilson!” Cassie rounds the corner, wasp-wings flapping erratically and face beet-red as she darts over to him. “Miles got bit by a fucking spider, and my advisor wouldn’t let me do anything about it!”  
Sam sighs, wraps his wing around her, and guides her to a couch in the corner. On the other end of the couch, Bucky’s face emerges between the cushions. He frowns and asks, “Where are we?”  
Sam ignores him, deescalating Cassie before before she accidentally launches another hailstorm of stingers all over the place.  
“I’m gonna tell him I’m an Angel.”, Cassie says, hands clenched into tiny fists. “At least then, I can work with him instead of hovering and letting bad stuff happen to him.” She looks at Sam, as if expecting a rebuttal, but Sam just laughs and shakes his head.  
“You gotta follow your gut”, he tells her, and Cassie beams wide.  
“Thanks, Mr. Wilson!” She pulls him in for a hug, then leaps into the air and flies down the hall.  
“So this is your job?”, Bucky asks later as they’re sipping coffee in the Senior lounge room. “Babysitting?”  
“It’s a very important job”, Sam mutters around the rim of his mug. “Angels can get pretty volatile when their charge is in danger. That coupled with the fact that they’re just kids and...somebody’s gotta look out for ‘em.” It’s different nowadays. More people popping up with powers, more End of the World type deals. Angels get their papers earlier. Sam doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not, but it’s the reality they’re dealt with, and he doesn’t intend to just let these kids deal with it alone.  
“Anyway.” He tears open a packet of sugar, pours it into his coffee, and stirs his spoon about his mug. “How’s the memory?”  
Bucky shrugs. “Better, I think. I can remember what I had for breakfast this morning.”  
That’s some progress, Sam thinks. To be fair, he’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that ghosts eat in the first place, but he still considers it a win. Now they’ve just gotta work on the short-term shit. He sips at his coffee and considers Bucky. His eyes look a bit clearer, no more of that fogginess that’s been present since he’s known him. “Anything on a past life?”  
Bucky props his head up with his hand. “If a past life includes watching you dance to It’s Raining Men in the kitchen, then yeah.”  
“Don’t hate on the Weather Girls”, Sam bites half-heartedly, nearly choking on his coffee when he realizes Brunnhilde and Clint are standing beside him.  
Bucky looks between Sam and them and frowns. “What’s the problem?”  
“They can’t see you, asshole.”  
Brunnhilde cocks her head to the side. “Sammy?”, she asks, eyes darting to where Bucky’s sitting. “You okay?”  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m great”, he assures her. “It’s a, uh, bluetooth.” She and Clint continue to look at him, noting the absence of said bluetooth, but Sam just waves them off. “Really. I’m fine.”  
“I heard Warren had an anxiety attack in one of your classes”, Clint begins warily.  
“Nothing I couldn’t handle”, Sam cuts in. “I’m a counselor in my mortal day job, remember? This is kind of my area of expertise.”  
“Really?”, Bucky asks, lips twitching in amusement.  
“Really”, Sam snaps, looking back in his direction.   
“It’s a ghost, isn’t it?”, Brunnhilde suddenly asks, eyes alight with mischief. “Are they fucking with you? Cause I know an exorcism or two that can take care of that.”  
A chorus of “What?”’s erupts amongst the group, each with various degrees of disbelief, discomfort, and terror. Brunnhilde just shrugs and says, “I have friends”. She sits down beside Sam and wiggles her eyebrows. “So what’s their name?”  
“She’s just kidding, right?”, Bucky asks, suddenly seeming a lot smaller as he presses himself into the cushions of the couch. “She wouldn’t actually exorcise me...would she?”  
Sam remains silent for a moment, then softly says, “No. She’s just an asshole, you two would get along great”.  
“Hey”, Brunnhilde says with a pout.  
“When exactly were you planning to tell us you’re being haunted?”, Clint asks, eyebrows raised in amusement.  
“Uh, when the time was right?” With that, Sam rises to his feet, allowing his wings to stretch out to their full span. He hums, picks up his coffee, and look at them both. “I should get going. He gets antsy if we’re away from the house from too long.”  
“Um, no, Sam, that would be you.” Bucky places a hand against his chest, then follows Sam as he makes his way towards the garage, which, in turn, leads to a cloudy stairway.  
“Just curious”, Bucky says once they’ve been walking for some time. “But can you, like, hear birds or something? Are they friends with the bees?”  
“Why me?”, Sam grumbles and makes a left towards where a truck is hovering beside the step they’re upon. He slips into his car, slides on his seatbelt, and nosedives them down towards the Mortal Realm. “Of all the sorry fuckers to haunt, why me?”  
Bucky just shrugs; he flips the sun visor and pulls a pair of sunglasses from there, slipping them onto his face with ease before casting a full-watt smile at Sam. “Must be a cosmic thing.”  
. . .  
By some miracle, Sam makes it to the end of the month. Buckys wandered off, doing whatever it is he does when he’s not aggravating the shit out of him, so when Brunnhilde and Clint invite him out for drinks, he says yes.  
"They still wont let me intervene", Brunnhilde gripes as the bartender passes her another round. Her wings, glittery and cottony, flap irritably, nearly knocking over the beer Clint’s drinking. She pours him some of hers jn apology, then pouts into her drink. "How many times does he have to almost get killed by his brother before my presence is 'required'?"  
Sam nods along, enjoying the way his charmed whiskey pools in his stomach. They may be Senior Angels, but they still have advisors, and most of them are pretty old-fashioned, wanting only limited contact between guardian and charge. Sam had to wait 40 years for Steve to unfreeze and then another three before he was allowed to approach him.  
But Brunnhilde and Thor have been alive for centuries so he guess he can’t really complain. He can’t imagine waiting a day longer than he had for Steve.  
Then there’s assholes like Clint and Cassandra C., who’ve been best-buddies with their charges since their training days, but those are rare.  
"Why don’t you just talk to him", Clint interjects. "Me and Sam did. You’re not scared to break rules, are you?”  
"I don’t give a shit about the rules”, she says, rolling her eyes. “I just, ugh, just because he’s my charge doesn’t mean I have to like him."  
Sam snorts into his drink. From listening to some of the older Angels, he knows Brunnhilde’s almost always been this way about her charges. But there’s something about the way her eyes soften whenever she speaks about Thor that makes him think she might be different with him. At the very least, she must be intrigued because he’s the only one she’s been willing to talk to since she lost her first one.  
He thinks of Bucky then, the way you might think about a wart you’d forgotten you had. And then he winces, thinking of the bruise forming along his back. In Bucky’s defense, he hadn’t seemed to realize his presence could cause ice to appear, and, when Sam slipped on the kitchen floor, he’d actually seemed sincere in his apology.  
So maybe Casper the Not So Friendly Ghost isn’t quite as Unfriendly as he’d like Sam to believe.  
Still doesn’t mean Sam has to like him.  
“Sam”, Clint questions with a sigh. “It’s the middle of August. Why are you wearing a turtleneck?”  
Sam shrugs. “I make it work.”  
“You really don’t”, Brunnhilde lifts her hand and presses the back of it against Sam’s head. “Tell me something, Sammy.” She leans forward and gives him a steely look. “How does a cosmic being, with no concept of the mortal body, catch a cold?”  
“I don’t know, B, how does a being with no concept of the mortal body catch a cold?”  
“That’s not funny, Sam.”  
Clint snickers into his drink. “I thought it was funny.” Then, his voice sobering ever so slightly, he adds, “Is it Bucky?” Then, lowering his voice, “Is he here?”  
“No, he’s off somewhere. And he can’t really control the chill, so it’s not exactly his fault.” And for some reason, Sam’s spending so much time with him has caused him to adopt Bucky’s chill, even when he isn’t around.   
“Have you talked to the Elders?” Clint waves off the bartender, then looks back to Sam. “They might know something about it.”  
“They don’t even believe in ghosts”, he mutters, shaking his head. “No one’s seen one in centuries, and none of the Books mention anything about them being amnesiac’s frozen in time.” He folds his arms across the counter and sighs. “Think I’m on my own with this one.” Silence befalls the group, where Brunnhilde and Clint are no doubting conjuring up some scheme to dig up more info on ghosts and Sam...well...Sam’s just wondering when Bucky’s gonna pop back up.  
Not because he’s worried about him or anything. He just doesn’t usually stay gone this long is all.  
With absolutely zero grace, Sam coughs into his fist and changes the subject. “I’m gonna help Steve find out what happened to his friend.”  
He suspects they suspect the tactic for what it is. Luckily enough, they don’t call him out on it. Clint’s wings, broad and massive and yellow, make a dramatic fwoosh as they envelop Sam. “Oh, sweet summer child”, he swoons, pulling a napkin from the table and dabbing it against his eyes. “Already, you’re in so deep!”  
Sam uses his left wing to dislodge him. “I just wanna make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless”, he says, flicking a stale french fry at Clint for the kissy faces he’s making. “He and this ‘Bucky’ were real close, I don’t know what he’d do to get some closure about him.”  
“Another ‘Bucky’, huh?”   
“I know”, Sam says, chuckling. “Hell of a coincidence, isn’t it?” He smiles then, leaning his head back as his thoughts switch over to Steve and how, if nothing else, this mission will allow him some closure and to move on with his life.  
“Careful, sweetums”, Brunnhilde croons. She downs the last of her drink, then stands, bending over to kiss Sam on the nose before disappearing into the crowd. “I think you’re dealing with a heartbreaker.”  
Sam watches her disappear into the arms of a person with the wings of a monarch butterfly and shakes his head. Clint challenges him to a race in Mario Kart, and Sam spends most of it thinking of Steve’s Bucky.  
What's happened to him is horrible. It'd be nice to bring him back in from the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of fun with this au, in case you hadn't noticed 😊😊😊.  
> But thank you to everyone who's interacted with this story! I honestly wasn't sure what the response would be, so it was nice to see people actually were interested.  
> Feedback's always welcome! Thanks for reading and I'll see y'all next week.


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks pass, and Bucky’s still haunting Sam’s flat. Gradually, Sam grows to expect his presence, seeing his ghostly, wavering shadow lurking outside his shower curtain and doing nothing more than asking him to check if the mail’s run yet.

It works great for them, and he stops finding excuses to leave since Bucky always just winds up following him.

(“There are, like, eight million people in New York”, Sam says as Bucky trails after him to ALDI. “Could you not haunt them, even for just a day?”

Bucky shrugs. “I guess.” He jerks his head to the wall of shelves beside them and says, “Don’t forget the jelly, we’re almost out”.

“I’m not paying for strawberry”, Sam mumbles.

“Fine, then get Apple.”)

Things are going great, wonderfully, actually.

That is, of course, until Sam awakens to the feel of chilly fingers frantically shaking his shoulder.

Wings flapping groggily, Sam sits up; immediately, he misses the warmth of the nest of blankets and pillows he’d cocooned around himself. But Bucky’s in his room and more transparent than he’s been in a while, so he pushes past the sleepiness, wipes his hands across his face, and focuses his eyes upon him. “What’s wrong, man?”

A second passes before Bucky answers. When he does, his voice is afflicted with the same tremours as his body. “My arm.”

Sam nods, growing unsettled by the pain contorting Bucky’s features. He’s not used to seeing him as anything other than unimpressed or cheeky. Truth be told, Sam would rather he never look like that; if it’s any indication of how he’s feeling on the inside...Sam shakes his head and pats the space beside him. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to sit. “What’s wrong with your arm?”, Sam asks softly, feeling the last traces of sleep fleeting away from him.

Bucky presses against Sam, then quietly whispers, “It’s gone”.

There’s a moment where Sam just stares confusedly at the ceiling. Then, like the sky’s just opened a ray of sunlight upon him, he feels his eyes widen and goes, “Oh”. Bucky’s memory is getting better, but he still has trouble grasping some things. Sam hadn’t figured it’d extend to his own anatomy, which, of course, begs the question of what exactly had happened to his arm.

And that, of course, just leaves Sam in the awkward position of explaining something he has no knowledge of.

“It’s...always been gone”, Sam begins, frowning at the “always”. If he’s to take this reaction as anything, Bucky probably had, at some point, had two arms. But Bucky only really seems to remember things from this year, so Sam figures that would be his new “always”. It doesn’t sit well with him, but at the moment, it seems like the best thing to say. “You get along fine without it, you know. Most days, you don’t even seem to notice it.” Even when Bucky tries to button up a henley, he doesn’t do much more than stare blankly, lingering before carrying on with the next immediate task.

Bucky breathes in shakily, his fingers coming up to rest on where his arm ends beneath his shoulder. Sam licks his lips; behind him, his wings flap restlessly, wanting desperately to wrap around them both. Sam isn’t quite sure the gesture would be welcome, though, he settles for dropping his hand over Bucky’s. “You’re okay.”   
“I’m okay”, Bucky repeats; he shudders, and when Sam next breathes, a thick cloud of air escapes his mouth. Keeping his wings placate proves even more difficult, but, somehow, he manages. Bucky’s fingers squeeze around Sam’s as he says, once more, “I’m okay”. He turns to Sam, and, despite his temperature, there’s red in his cheeks. 

Sam smiles and returns his squeeze. He doesn’t move from where he sits.

It’s quiet for a while. Thirty, forty minutes. Not for the first time, Sam finds himself drifting, wondering just who Bucky had been before he’d settled upon his apartment. And not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like to not have a past; to awaken and discover yet another hole in your memory.

This time, when he squeezes Bucky’s hand, he finds Bucky’s still squeezing.

“Why do you sleep like that?” Bucky suddenly asks, his throat hoarse.

Sam startles, wings twitching and dislodging several pillows to the floor. Bucky doesn’t comment on it, but he is watching Sam, eyes tired yet curious. “...It’s my nest”, Sam murmurs; he averts his gaze to the floor and bites his lip. It’s not practical to have one in his mortal dwelling, but he’s never been comfortable with beds. So he had to make do.

Of course, he hadn’t planned for anyone to ever actually see it, so it’s not in the best state it could be. Bucky seems to realize this because his voice is gentle when he next speaks: “It’s nice. It looks comfy.” He crosses his legs, grabs hold of his ankles, and turns to look directly at him. “You’d give the pigeons on the air conditioner a run for their money.”

Sam snorts and shoves his shoulder, pleased when a light laugh escapes Bucky. “Who do you think taught ‘em?”

Bucky’s shoulders bounce with laughter, and, soon enough, Sam’s are, too. 

Sleep eventually catches back up to him, and Bucky looks at him, hesitant. So Sam scoots aside, adjusting the bounds of blankets and sheets until the nest surrounds them both. It’s a tight fit.

But it fits all the same. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need Falcon and Winter Soldier to be here already, a bitch is getting impatient 😭😭😭.  
> Also, to everyone curious on what happened to Bucky, I promise there's an explanation coming up, and it's gonna tie everything together lol, it's gonna be great.

“Sam. Are you okay?”

Sam turns his head to his left, to where Steve’s returned to his side. Sam wipes the back of his arm over his forehead and pants. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine”, he replies, surprised to find he’s not out of breath. Steve seems to pick up on this, too. Instead of immediately passing him up, he settles into a relaxed jog beside Sam and casually notes, “You’re kinda quiet today”.

Sam bites his lip. “It’s Monday. How’s the track looking?”

Steve just looks at Sam, brows furrowed in suspicion.

To be truthful, the very concept of their morning runs is fucking ridiculous. If Sam wanted, he could clear this track in about two minutes, doing so before Steve even has the chance to realize what’s happened. And he has wanted to, dozens of times, because Steve’s about as competitive as he is and has no qualms with being a cheeky shit about his lap times. Every so often, Sam almost lets himself slip, letting his wings out as he continues to run, catching up to Steve in a matter of seconds. The look on Steve’s face is always worth it, even if he does start watching Sam a bit curiously.

But most days, Sam takes it easy on Steve, ever delighted by the mischievous glint in his charge’s eyes every time he passes him up. 

Evidently, he’d been taking it a bit too easy today. They’ve been running for thirty minutes, and Sam hasn’t even finished his first mile.

“Listen, man, I’m fine.” Sam smiles, and that seems to put Steve at ease. “I’m just a little...distracted, I guess.”

Steve nods. He turns his gaze back to the path ahead of them, but he always remains at Sam’s side. “Is it your roommate? James, right?”

“Yeah”, Sam admits, pausing in his jog. Steve does the same, watching Sam, eyes expectant and soft. It throws Sam off-balance, like it always does. He’s used to being the one comforting Steve, getting him to open up and talk about the shitload of trauma he’s accumulated over the course of his life. To suddenly have the tables turned and have to lay his own heart out to bear…

_ Inappropriate _ , flashes through his mind, accompanied by an Elder’s grumpy face. Then Mystique, another Elder comes to mind, and Sam clenches his fists. Despite her position, Mystique’s always been a bit lax, allowing leeway where many would offer barriers. Impropriety between guardians and charges hasn’t been penalized in decades, but it helps to know there’s at least one Elder that would be on his side.

Sam pushes past his instincts and shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “James is never around at certain times of the day, and it’s been bugging me.”

Steve’s shoulders relax, like he’d been expecting something worse. Which, given their line of work, Sam can’t necessarily say he’s surprised by. “Well”, Steve says, exhaling softly. “Maybe he’s got something better to do.”   
“Trust me”, Sam snorts and crosses his arms over his chest. “He doesn’t.”   
Steve raises an eyebrow. After a silent moment, he suggests, “Maybe he wants to give you space?”   
“Steve, the guy’s not exactly Mr. Boundaries…” Sam trails off, his thoughts immediately revising his words the moment they pass his lips. True enough, Bucky’s ghostiness means he frequently passes through the walls at inopportune times. But whenever that happens, he always makes a show of blushing and darting away until Sam’s presentable. And now that Sam thinks of it, the only time Bucky really goes away is when Sam’s running with Steve or chatting with an Angel or a Vet.

“Well, shit”, Sam mutters. Because Bucky’s actually pretty fucking good with boundaries, more than he would expect of a guy that’s been dead since the ‘40s. And admittedly, it’s kind of embarrassing that it’s taken Sam this long to realize it.

It’s a universal truth what a bond means to a guardian, but Sam thought he was pretty lowkey about his own bond.

“Sam?”, Steve starts, and, this time, he actually sounds worried.

Feathers ripple underneath the skin of Sam’s back. He forces them down, clearing his throat before looking back at Steve. “I’m good”, he says. He jerks his head to the path, then says, “Now about that run?”

They wind up leaving the track two hours later, lounging at a park bench for an extra hour before Steve leaves for Avenger Tower and Sam for his apartment.

Bucky’s in the living room when he walks in; his hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and he’s parked before the T.V., watching Tom and Jerry reruns. “Hey, Sam”, he says, absentmindedly folding their laundry. “You missed the first half.” 

Sam gives a breathy laugh, kicking off his shoes before starting towards his room. Bucky pauses, looking up from the massive pile of clothes before him, and raises an eyebrow. He stands, picking up the dozen or so items of clothing he’s folded so far and tentatively following Sam.

Sam smiles, holding out his arms and accepting half of Bucky’s pile. Together, they crouch before their shared dresser and begin tucking them away.

They’ve settled into a neat routine before Sam disturbs the silence with, “I don’t actually mind”.

Bucky looks up from Sam’s old USAF sweatshirt and frowns. 

“You following me around”, Sam finishes; a tingle runs up his spine when Bucky passes him the shirt and their fingers touch. “You’re not completely detestable.”

Bucky blinks. And then, like the sun peaking out from behind a curtain of clouds, he smiles. He nods, then turns back to the henley Sam helped him pick out a few weeks back. “I know”, Bucky says, a slight waver to his voice despite the nonchalance he’s aiming for. “I just figured you’d like it. You’re always sayin’ you’d wish you could spend more time with him.”

“I just wanted to make sure”, Sam cuts in, suddenly nervous. “When I tell you to fuck off and stuff…”

“Sam”, Bucky says, and he sounds amused. “It’s okay.” He rises to his feet, winking as he heads back for the living room. “I know you’re mighty popular, darling.”

Sam chuckles, his chest tight as he turns his attention back to tucking away his clothes.

The next morning, Bucky stays behind in the apartment, like usual. He hugs Sam, and his cold clings to him longer than it usually does.

“Kind of chilly for early September”, Steve notes as they’re stretching before their run.

Sam just smiles, closing his eyes as he rises to his feet and leans into a lunge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Imma be busy tomorrow, so I'm posting this week's update earlier. I hope y'all like it!  
> Also, I feel bad for how short this chapter is, so there's gonna be two for this week.

The thing about guardians is they can actually use their wings, even if they’re not supposed to show them to their charges.

Most people think they’re just for show, a fallacy which never ceases to annoy the shit out of Sam but one which doesn’t exist without reason. When you prohibit public wing displays to humans, you generally run the risk of alienating other beings as well. 

All in all, Sam despises the rule, wishing he could just let his wings breathe, feel the warm, gentle kiss of the sun against his feathers. But given his relationship with his charge, he figures he’s not exactly in the position to be making demands,

So when he explains this to his Juniors, he doesn’t blame them for flying into an uproar and derailing his lecture.

“We’re flyers”, Karen says, wearing a black and yellow dress in her namesake. She sighs, leans back in her chair, and stares longingly out the window. “We should be allowed to fly.”

“Thor can fly”, Jason adds under his breath. “And so can Wonder Woman, and they don’t have wings.”

“I don’t make the rules, kid”, Sam defends, palms shown placatingly. “You think I like having these monsters stuck in my back all day?”

The entire class rolls their eyes at him, and Sam smiles, watching them fondly. He remembers sitting in their seats, anxious to grow his flight feathers and be of help to the world. More importantly, he remembers how frustrated, how  _ suffocated _ , he’d felt by all the rules and how terrifying the idea of adhering to them had been.

He likes to think thirteen-year-old Sam would be mighty pleased by who they turned out to be. But to look at these kids, he can’t help but worry because he knows just how rough a journey they’re in for.

So he doesn’t give them shit for not acting as the “model” Junior Angel. They’ve only got a few years left to break the rules, before they decide what “Guardian” means to them and how to interact with those rules. He figures he can let them enjoy ‘em.

"Mr. Barton says you're going on leave", Rachel says afterwards, purple wings wrapped around her and carrying her textbooks.

Sam rolls his eyes. "He told you that?"

"Kate was eavesdropping in the ceiling vents", she says with a shrug. "Are you really leaving?" She adjusts her hijab and purses her lips. "The other kids, they...they like you a lot."

"Ms. Roth, I can assure you, I'm not leaving. Come on.” He rolls his shoulders, ignoring the look a passing Elder gives him for having his wings out. “Have I ever lied?"

"You told us you'd never give us a pop quiz", she notes dryly, eyes narrowed with accusation.

"That was the board’s idea, not mine." Sam pauses at the elevator and presses the button to the first floor. "I promise.” He holds a hand over his heart and smiles. “No more surprises."

Raven rolls her eyes, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smile upon her face. "I'm sure everyone else will be happy to hear that”, she says before shifting her books into her arms and flying off down the hall.

"You're kinda good at this."

Bucky’s leaning against the wall of the elevator as the door closes. He smiles, fingers rising to brush at the space beside his ear. "Hey."

Sam smiles back. "Hey." He's quiet a minute, listening to the shitty elevator music until he says, "I have been at it a while so..."

"Don't give me that", Bucky says with a snort.

Sam frowns. "What?"

"You know.” Bucky shrugs, slipping his hand into the pockets of his pajama bottoms. “That Ice Princess Shit. You're not 100% a dick. You like being able to help them.”

"What can I say, I’m a helpful person.” Sam cuts his eyes to Bucky, then back to the rapidly decreasing numbers above them. “And I don't think anyone’s 100% a dick."

“Mm.” There’s a moment where it’s just the sound of the elevator humming and grating Muzak before Bucky clears his throat. When Sam turns to look at him, he finds Bucky’s defrosted, his skin pale and moist. 

Sam suppresses a smile and raises his eyebrows. “Something on your mind?”

“Uh...yeah, actually.” Bucky licks his lips, his pinks now a bright shade of red. “Why does Clint think you’re going on leave?”

_ Fuck.  _ Sam chuckles, the sound coming out high and unreasonably loud. He turns his eyes to the numbers once more, wondering why one building should have so many floors. “Because he’s an idiot?”, he suggests, scratching the back of his head.

An idiot who happens to think he’s about to propose to the asshole haunting his apartment, for whatever reason.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with me, would it-”   
“‘Course not!” Sam swallows, then, lowering his voice, repeats himself. “Of course not.” He can feel his wings ruffling, feathers standing at attention, ignorant to what’s put them at alert. He doesn’t have to look at Bucky to know he’s noticed this, too. “Why, you want me to take off work or something?”   
“What? No.” Bucky scratches the back of his head. “I dunno. Maybe.” Shyly, he looks over at Sam, then says, “It’s kinda boring when you’re not at home”. Then, stumbling over his words, he adds, “I wouldn’t want you to quit, though. I-I know how much this means to you”.

“...That’s actually kinda sweet”, Sam says when what’s really on his mind is  _ Home _ .

He’d called Sam’s apartment  _ Home. _

“That and it’d mean I wouldn’t get first pick for snacks”, Bucky says with a sly smirk.

“I was wrong. It is possible for someone to be 100% a dick.”

Bucky just chuckles, turning and phasing through the elevator just as it reaches its destination. "Goodbye, Samuel."

Sam stares at the wall and smiles. “Bye, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget there are two chapters this week so go check that one out!  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were two updates this week so check out the one before this if you missed it!  
> Also, if it wasn't already obvious, I don't know shit about birds so don't take any of the bird anatomy in this seriously. Things get kind of gory (kind of) in this one, and I'm pretty sure this is not at all how molting works.

Given the chance, a Guardian would, in a heartbeat, gripe about the horrors of molting.

It’s an important biological process, yes, but that doesn’t make it any less disorienting. And after centuries of grief, they’ve finally gotten to the point where molting days are actually counted as excused absences, amongst students and staff. Physically, molts are more or less painless, but the psychological impact is devastating enough that even the Elders agreed it’d be better to just let an Angel take a few days off.

And that’s the general course of molting, in the case that the Angel in question is in optimal health, getting all their nutrients, regular, attentive grooming, stuff like that.

Then there’s Sam case: an Angel who keeps his wings hidden more often than not and an Angel who’s become something of a glutton for the worst of human foods.

In retrospect, waking up in the middle of the night to find himself afflicted with the worst form of Plumage Neglect he’s ever had shouldn’t be nearly as surprising as it is. 

“Fuck.” Sam hisses, wincing at the sight of a bloodied, brown feather drifting to the floor. He reaches for the mirror before him, bile rising in his throat even before he sees himself. For the first time in months, he can see the skin on his back. There are patches of feathers, unnaturally bunched together by knotted clumps of blood. Sam inhales sharply, giving a brief flap of his wings and crying out at the feeling of feathers peeling from his back.

He’s not an idiot. He knows bad molts are, more often than not, the result of poor-plumage care, but he can’t believe he’s let it get this bad. Sure, he hasn’t been to a salon in a few months, and he hasn’t been eating nearly as many greens as he should, but he’s been busy!

A piercing pain blossoms in his lower back, and Sam cries out, biting his lips as he leans over the sink, fingers tightly gripping the sides.

“Sam?” Bucky’s voice, tired yet sleepy, emerges from the other side of the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”

Sam whimpers again, and Bucky takes a step forward, stalling once he gets a good look at him.

Embarrassment doesn’t quite do Sam justice. Like any other Guardian, Junior or Senior, fledgling or Elder, he takes great pride in his wings. To have Bucky see him like this is...well...if he wasn’t absolutely blindsided with pain, the horror probably would’ve stricken him dead.

Bucky approaches him hesitantly, like he’s some frightened baby bird that’s fallen out of his nest. Sam gulps, gritting his teeth as his wings instinctively move tuck themselves out of sight. 

“Are they sick?”, Bucky asks quietly; he allows his eyes to drift to the floor, to where wet, bloodied towels are littered. As if on auto-pilot, he crouches beside the tub and turns the water onto warm.

“Molting”, Sam answers, his tongue feeling heavy. “Too much junk food.”

Bucky nods. He rises to his feet, turning around so that his back is to Sam. Sam sighs in relief and immediately begins to strip. “Is there anything you...need?”

Sam shakes his head. He lets the water rise to mid-height, then submerges himself, humming contentedly at the feel of the water rushing over his tattered wings. “Gotta ride it out”, he murmurs, tentatively opening his wings. In an instant, the water’s turned murky with blood, and feathers have begun to float around him. He watches them sadly, feeling horrible naked. “I can take some protein shakes, but it’s not gonna do anything in the meantime.” He wraps his arms around himself and shudders. “It should clear up in about a week.”   
“Do you want me to call anyone?” There’s the sound of shuffling feet, followed by the sound of the sink turning off. Suddenly, there’s a mouthwash cup of water before him.

“Thanks”, Sam murmurs, swallowing the water gratefully. He lets the cool liquid settle over his tongue; hesitant, he gives a twitch of his wings. His barring, usually heavy with dense, streaking feathers of brown and white, feels lighter and weaker than he’s known since he was a teenager. The thought of anyone seeing him like this...“Not yet”, he mutters and stares at a lone feather sinking to the bottom of the tub. “In the morning. Maybe.”

“...You wanna be alone?”

Sam closes his eyes, his chest rising with the breath he takes. “No. But I don’t...I don’t want you to look. Okay?”

“Okay.” The shower curtain shifts as Bucky sits beside him. By now, the water’s fully risen up to Sam’s knees, and he spreads his wings, allowing them to float atop the water. The pain has yet to recede, but the cool presence of water does help to alleviate it.

“Are you gonna take the week off?”, Bucky asks, his voice soft and quiet.

“Yeah. And I uh.” Sam licks his lips, anxiety burning bright in his chest. “I’m not gonna be able to hide them like I usually can...so I can’t leave the house.”   
“I can handle groceries and shit. You just...focus on getting better.”   
“All right.” With that, Sam leans against the side of the tub. All of a sudden, he feels an exhaustion that seeps through his bones, and, within minutes, he finds himself falling into a fitful, restless sleep.

. . .

Before Sam graduated, molting was more a nuisance than anything else.

It shook his confidence like hell, but it was an experience shared amongst all Angels, so there was never any need to change anything. He’d have to inform his teachers and advisor, but, for the most part, life would carry on as usual.

But he has a charge now. He has a human life now. And with them both, he has to adapt.

His molts usually coincide with flu season, so it usually excuses his sudden absences from the VA. But Steve, stubborn as he is, isn’t nearly as easily dissuaded. 

“I don’t need any soup, Stevie”, Sam grumbles, staring glumly at the naked wings spilling over his shoulders. He takes a sip of his tea and sighs, continuing to channel-surf in search of something interesting. “I just need some sleep.”   
“You need a doctor”, Steve says, his voice coming out worried over the phone. “This doesn’t sound like any flu I’ve ever heard of.”   
“It’s the same flu I get every year. And hey, I always get better, don’t I?”

“Yeah”, Steve huffs. “But what if it’s something serious?”

“It’s not. Trust me, it’s been in my family since forever, and, as far as I know, it’s never killed anyone.” He opens his mouth to continue, trailing off at the sight of Bucky stepping through the door, several bags of groceries cradled against his chest. He smiles, waving at him, then turns his attention back to Steve. “If it gets bad...I’ll tell you. Deal?”

“Deal. I’m holdin’ you to that.”

“I’m sure you will”, Sam chuckles, catching the bag of sunflower seeds Bucky tosses his way. “You’d better get back to work. Nat’ll have my ass if she finds out I’m keeping you away.”   
“She’ll have your ass if it turns out there’s more to this than you’re letting on”, Steve says pointedly. Silence stretches between them, one which Sam’s finding himself more and more familiar with these days. 

He’s been warned of this. Charges getting suspicious, wanting to know more about their guardian. It makes Sam nervous for a lot of reasons; with all the shit he gets into, he doubts Steve would take Sam’s being an Angel too badly, but he still feels unnerved by the idea of him ever truly knowing.

And more and more, he feels like it’s an inescapable possibility.

“Call me at lunch”, Sam says and hangs up. He feels heavy, much like he had while he was still serving and struggling with the weight of his wings in his back at all hours of the day. 

“How are they?”, Bucky asks as he returns from the kitchen.

“Better. I think the sores are healing.” Sam opens his sunflower seeds and pours them into the palm of his hand.

Bucky nods, smiling and holding out a hand when Sam shakes his sunflower seeds at him. “Was that Steve?”

"Yeah." Sam shakes his head, the image of Steve's worried eyes reflected behind his eyelids. Suddenly feeling very weary, he presses two fingers against his temple and sighs. "He's real protective. Ever since he lost Bucky, he’s been paranoid, on edge; he thinks if he’s always his friends, that’ll somehow keep ‘em out of danger.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, and Sam smiles, clarifying, “Not you. Steve’s Bucky.”

"Oh. The guy that ripped out your wings."

There's a malice to Bucky's word that Sam hadn’t expected. Sam finds himself disoriented, even moreso at the sight of frost clinging to Bucky's cheeks.

"Yeah", Sam drawls. His wings flutter, seeking out the heated air of the apartment. He winces, gently coaxing them back against the carpet, and casts a look in Bucky’s direction. "It's more complicated than it sounds."

“He tried to kill you", Bucky responds cooly. "Doesn't sound very complicated."

“He wasn’t exactly in his right mind", Sam murmurs. He rises from his seat, turning around to stare at Bucky. He seems...distant. Sam starts towards the kitchen, his stomach grumbling at the thought of lunch. "And anyway this is Steve’s best friend. I don’t wanna overstep, you know.” 

Bucky frowns. His brows draw together, and he shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “I thought you were Steve’s best friend.” 

“...I am." Sam pries open the kid of the peanut butter, an immense pride swelling in his chest. "I’m his new best friend." He grabs a butter knife and some saltines, focusing his attention on making a plate full of peanut-butter crackers. "I don’t know, man, it’d just be awkward." He leans over the kitchen counter, sighing deeply as he stares down at his plate. "I don’t even wanna think about making him choose between me and him.”

He allows himself to linger on the thought for a moment before cutting his eyes to Bucky. In the minutes since he left for the kitchen, Bucky hasn't moved an inch, staring blankly at the T.V., eyes seemingly unaware of what they’re watching.

"Buck", Sam calls out. When this warrants no response, he grabs his plate, ambles back into the living room, and sits beside him. Bucky doesn't look at him, his breathing coming in wheezy pants. Before he can stop it, Sams wing, in all its naked and butchered glory, drapes itself over Bucky's shoulders. Bucky blinks, turning to look at him.

"You uh...you okay?"

Bucky just breathes, his frost beginning to melt. "Sam", he says, like he hadn't expected him to be here.

"Yeah, man. It's me."

Bucky leans into the touch of SMs wings, his chill cancelling out Sam's warmth. "Sam", he breathes. Then he looks down at his lap and says, "I thought we were out of peanut-butter".

"We were." Sam holds out his hand, and Bucky reaches out to squeeze it. "You went to the store and got some, remember?"

"You can't go outside", Bucky murmurs. "It makes you nervous."

Sams wings wrap around Bucky, and he grits his teeth, just barely withholding the urge to retreat into the safe confines of his nest. "I'm not nervous."

"You're tense." Bucky leans against him, curious blue eyes staring up at him. "You should talk to Steve."

"I know." A hum resonates in Sam's chest, and he wraps an arm around Bucky's waist, inhaling softly. "He'd like you, you know."

"I doubt that", Bucky says, a light if sad lilt to his voice. He reaches for one of Sam's crackers and slips it into his mouth. "But I appreciate the sentiment." He crunches a moment, taking a sip of Sam’s tea before quietly saying, “I’d choose you”.

Sam closes his eyes. Happiness blossoms in his heart, and it’s nothing to do with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor guys, it's gonna be so awkward when they realize there's only one Bucky 😭😭😭. And don't worry, Sam's wing'll be healthy and fluffy again by the next update, I promise!  
> Let me know what you're thinking and thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, apparently there's gonna be another Falcon and Soldier trailer drop next week 😳😳😳. I don't know if that's confirmed or not, but if it is, I am ready. I still haven't recovered from that Superbowl trailer BUT I AM READY!

“I think I used to live in New York”, Bucky says one morning, freezing Sam’s wall-mirrors as he passes by them. He flushes, waves a hand over the wall, and the ice melts.

Taking a moment to look up from his crossword puzzle, Sam raises his eyebrows, a witty retort on the tip of his tongue before he gets a good look at Bucky. He presses his pencil into his book, then folds it, his head tilted to the side as he watches Bucky. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Bucky wraps an arm around himself, like that’ll somehow make the cold go away. He inhales deeply, and just like that, a thick coating of permafrost settles over the entire room. This time, he doesn’t move to defrost it. Bucky blinks, his eyelashes licked with ice, and breathes, like it’s all he can do to keep standing. “This feels more...familiar...than where I used to be.”

Sam sets his puzzle aside and leans forward, resting the weight of his elbows against his knees. “Where did you used to be?”

Bucky just shrugs. “It’s real blurry. I guess it wasn’t that memorable.”

At that, Sam goes quiet. After all that’s happened in the past few months, he’d like to think he and Bucky are friends, or, at the very least, something quite close to it. It makes terrible and longing something inside of him ache to think that, one day, Bucky could forget about him. His wings flutter, still so very weak from their molting. Sam clears his throat, angling his body so that Bucky can’t see them.

“I got the day off today”, Sam says, and Bucky turns to look at him. “Steve’s out of town.” Avenger business, fate of the world, that kind of shit. Nothing too grisly but enough to keep him busy for a week or two. Of course, he’ll be back to work at the VA come Monday, but in the meantime... 

Sam snatches the remote control off the couch and wiggles it back and forward. “Wanna...I dunno, watch something?”

Bucky stares, eyes fond but confused. With all the free time he has, he’s gotten to know technology fairly well, but T.V.’s sort of an elusive subject for him. Somedays, he can spew out channel numbers better than Sam; other days, he can just barely place it as a “tiny picture”. 

Today seems to be one of the latter.

Sam takes Bucky by his hand and guides him to the couch. “Sit down, Gramps”, Sam says, flicking on the screen. “Imma teach you a little something about television.”

. . .

He regrets his decision approximately eleven hours later, when he’s trying to get some sleep and Bucky’s binge-watching a series of monster truck documentaries.

When he gets out of bed, though, Bucky’s eyes look clearer than they ever had, and his skin isn’t quite so green. He passes Sam a plate of bacon and eggs and says, “Man, the future really is something” with the biggest, softest grin on his face.

Sam eats his bacon and listens, learning more about monster trucks than he could’ve ever dreamed.

. . .

It’s a few weeks later when Steve returns from his mission, seeming lighter than when he’d gone. He says he feels better about being an Avenger, and Sam beams, an all-consuming light threatening to burst through him, he’s so proud.

“I don’t know if I trust Tony”, he mutters as they’re out for a run. “But...I think he’s a good man.” He smiles at this, then turns to Sam, and says, “He doesn’t call me Capsicle anymore”.

Sam rolls his eyes at that. He’s heard plenty about Stark, most of it unkind. But if he’s treating Steve good, then he guesses he can’t be too bad. “What about the lightning guy? Thor, right?”

Steve cocks his head to the side, thinking before he answers, “Kind. Brave. Nice hair, too.”

Sam nods. Brunnhilde’s always talking about it.

“I think we’d be good friends if he stayed on world”, Steve continues softly, and Sam just barely suppressed a smile.

At first, he hadn’t been too keen on Steve being an Avenger. After growing up, watching him safely within the confines of the ice, Sam hadn’t wanted Steve to be in any danger, much less the kind that came with being a superhero. But he’s been keeping a close eye: Steve can hold his own, and the Team, messy as they are, have got his back.

“I’m gonna take off for a while”, Steve says, watching Sam warily. “I uh...Tony wants me, and the Avengers, to move in with him. There’s a room if you want one.”

Sam feels his wings threatening to break free of their glamour. “Nah.” He thinks of Bucky at home, underneath a heated blanket, pouring through Sam’s bookshelf. Feathers, ripe and arching towards the sun, prickle underneath the skin of his back. He swallows, struggling to keep pace with Steve. He looks over at him and says, “I kinda like where I’m at.”

He means it. It took some getting used to, but living with Bucky isn’t all that bad. He hasn’t had a reason to really enjoy being home since, well, since Riley. He doesn’t wanna disrupt that.

Besides, it’s not as if Steve’s moving halfway across the planet. Avenger Tower is, even during the worst of rush hour traffic, just an hour away from Sam’s place. And if he’s ever desperate, his wings could get him there in ten-fifteen minutes.

“Well, you know the place if you ever change your mind”, Steve says, eyes soft and kind. Sam just smiles because he may have had to wait forty years to get to know his charge, but Steve was definitely worth the wait.

“And you’re sure it’s not romantic?” Bucky asks later; he takes a bite of his hot pocket, eyes trained on the Justice League comic he’s reading. “Not-not that that’d be a problem or anything, I just, you know, this thing seems kinda...intense.”

“It is”, Sam admits. He crashes down on the couch beside him and runs a hand over his beard. “And I mean, for some people, it is. Thor and Brunnhilde, that’s how it is for them, and these kids, Riri and Karen.” He tosses an arm over the back of the couch and considers it. “It’s love but a different kind of love for everyone.” With him and Steve, it’s platonic; he’s known so ever since he was a boy and first realized what the everlasting warmth beneath his breast was. Even when he was sure of absolutely nothing else in his life, when it seemed nothing else would make sense, his being an Angel and who he and Steve were meant to be? They always made sense, as natural as gliding through clouds a midsummer sunset in Harlem.

Of course, he knows that’s not exactly a good thing. He doesn’t need a lecture from an Elder or a degree in psychology to know his attachment to Steve isn’t healthy. But give him a break, okay? He’s waited forty years for this asshole. A little over-attachment is definitely in order.

Sam pulls himself out of his reverie and looks over at Bucky and blinks. His wings, weary from being tucked away all day, have spilled out of his back, with one draped lazily over Bucky’s lap. He moves to pull away, but Bucky just looks at him, mouth opened as if about to object. 

Sam lets his wing stay there, pushing down the bubble of pride welling up in his chest. He turns his gaze to the plate of mashed potatoes before him, spooning a mouthful of mush and gravy into his mouth. “What made you ask?”

Bucky shrugs, not meeting his eye. “Just curious.” He takes his plate and disappears with a puff of smoke, reappearing in the kitchen moments later. “You want anything?”

Sam stares, watching the way Bucky moves throughout his kitchen with a familiarity that makes his heart grow three sizes. “No. No, man, I’m good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with this, but I'm glad y'all liking it 😂😂😂. Let me know what you're thinking and thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on the marvel wiki page, and the Wilsons have really been going through it, holy shit.

"So”, Bucky asks as they’re attempting to make dinner in the kitchen. Neither of them is very good at it, but Sam’s having fun all the same. “Any family?"

Up until now, that is.

Sam’s hands stagger in the batter of mashed potatoes he’s stirring. He swallows, licks his lips, and breathes, eyes strained fixed on the Chef’s clock posted on the wall. "Yeah”, he answers, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Bucky pulls the smoking tray of cornbread out of the oven. “Sarah and Gideon. Siblings. I was the oldest.”

Bucky nods, quietly hissing as he clumsily drops the hissing tray onto the counter. His form flickers between solid and incorporeal before he juts his hand underneath the running sink. He looks at Sam, who still won’t look at him, and notes, “You don’t talk about them”.

“...We don't really talk." He passes Bucky a hand-towel to dry off his hand.

Bucky hops on top of the counter, watching as Sam’s potatoes begin to thicken. “Why not?”, he wonders, head cocked curiously to the side. 

Sam just shrugs, suddenly feeling like he’s been encaged, like his wings are straining against steel bars, with nowhere for him to go. He takes in another breath, then passes Bucky his bowl and instructs him to get some salt, butter, and pepper. "I lost someone”, Sam murmurs and allows his wings to take a big, swooping flap. His feet leave the floor, and Bucky stares, mouth agape and eyes full of awe. A hint of a smile crosses Sam’s face. He wraps his arms around him and sighs. “Kinda spiralled for a while. I’m better now, but... I don't really know how to get back to where we were." 

They used to be really close. Through all the toils, their parents, Paul, Jimmy, they always stuck together, always found a way to keep each other uplifted.

Then Riley died, and it was all for naught because Sam fucking fell apart, fled home and nearly clipped his wings, abandoned them when he promised he never would.

It’s gotten easier these past few years. Once a month, he’ll call them or vice versa, but it’s not like how it used to be. He’d like it to be, and he knows they would to, but he can’t just jump back like that. The counselor in him knows the abrupt loss quite possibly shattered his grasp on the concept of relationships, knows that for some, it’s easier to make new ones than repair old ones. But the brother in him knows that there’s only so long this can go on before the damage between he and his siblings becomes irreversible. 

“We should start on the beans”, Sam says, moving towards the pantry before Bucky suddenly grabs hold of him and pulls him for a hug. Sam stands there a moment, wings splayed out in surprise before returning the gesture. He sinks into the embrace, closing his eyes as he tucks his face against the crook of Bucky’s neck. “I’m fine, Buck”, he says because, truly, he is. It sucks, yeah, but...sometimes, life has to suck before it can get better.

“I know”, Bucky says, his single arm wrapped protectively around him, holding him so close that he can feel the way his chest rises and falls. “I just...I know.”

Sam nods, and his wings tiredly lift to wrap around them both. 

They never get around to finishing dinner.

. . .

Things get a little awkward when Steve tries to come over. Not because he and Bucky are awkward (they aren’t) but because Bucky never fucking shuts up, and Sam keeps forgetting that he’s the only one that can see him.

“It won’t hurt to take a day off every once in a while”, Steve says after walking in on Sam and Bucky arguing about the color of a dress they found online. “Call off patrol tonight, we’ll get the Spiders to handle your area.”

“He thinks I’m crazy”, he mutters to Clint on the phone later that night.

Bucky phases between the calls, a bowl of Frosted Flakes in his hand and a pair of wolf slippers on his feet. “Maybe you are crazy.”

“Fuck off”, Sam says half-heartedly.

“Have you thought about introducing him to Becky?”, Clint asks, eyes open and earnest.

From between the walls, Sam hears Bucky gag and shout, “Becky?!”

“I would, but, you see, then I would also have to introduce him to these babies”, he spreads his wings, “And that’s not happening”.

“Sammy”, Brunnhilde cuts in, pegasus-wings wide and fluffy behind her. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. How long exactly do you think you’re gonna be able to keep that a secret?” When Sam doesn’t answer, her smile tightens, and she adds, “He’s not wrong about you needing a break, though”.

“I know, I know.” Admittedly, his workload had gotten a little heavy, but he dropped his days at the VA down to three a week, and he’s only with the Juniors on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It’s a better schedule than he has in years but hell if he doesn’t still feel overwhelmed.

“Hey, Becky”, Sam asks sometime later. Bucky looks up from his third bowl of cereal, eyebrows raised. “Why am I the only one that can see you?”

Bucky scoops the last of his cereal into his mouth. “You’re asking me?”, he says incredulously.

Sam just shrugs. “It’s been months, man, I figured you’d remember something.”

“You’re basically the only thing I remember, Sam. You and-and the spot where I buried a lunchbox in the ‘30s.”

Briefly, Sam looks at Bucky. Then he looks away and pulls out his file on a transfer Junior. If he takes delight in knowing he’s the sole occupant of Bucky’s memory, that’s no one’s business but his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so fucking tempted to not update this week because it has been a rough couple of days lately. Here it is, though, and I can confidently say that the next chapter is gonna have the big Bucky reveal, so for everyone who's been anxiously waiting, it's almost here, I promise 😊😊😊.

When six months pass and Bucky has yet to move on, Sam sets a chocolate cake out and turns on his “Party” playlist. Bucky returns that evening from his “ghostly business” (whatever that is) and pauses, a blush evident in his cheeks as he takes in the candle-topped cake on the coffee table.

“I wasn’t sure what flavor you liked”, Sam says, grateful for choosing the black turtle-neck because, fuck, is he sweating up a storm. “You’re not...allergic or anything, are you?” 

“No, it.” Bucky smiles, timid, and leans over, taking in a light inhale. When he next looks up, lazy locks of brown hair dangling between his eyes, he looks both embarrassed and hopeful. “I think it’s my favorite, actually.”

Sam swallows. With a trembling set of hands, he picks up a knife and cuts them each two pieces. 

“I lied before”, Bucky says. Sam looks over to him and blinks. Bucky gently forks a piece of cake into his mouth, the tips of his ears flickering between red and blue. “Your wings.” He brushes his hair out of face, a gesture of uncertainty, hesitance despite his unwavering eye contact. Bucky takes a bite of his cake and shrugs. “They are nice.”

Sam can’t help it. His wings jerk, sharply rising before they slap his plate of cake onto the floor with a wet slap.

Bucky just smiles, raises his eyebrows, and says, “Need any help with that?”

“No”, he stutters, but Bucky’s already grabbing a paper-towel from the sink, wetting it with water, and cleaning the mess off the floor. 

“There”, Bucky says, tossing the towels into the garbage can. He pauses before the table, cuts Sam another slice, and passes it to him. Sam just accepts it, lifting the plate higher when his wings begin to twitch again.

“Thanks for the cake”, Bucky says and starts towards the living room. He pauses halfway through his walk and looks over his shoulder, watching Sam expectantly.

Sam tightens his grip on his plate. By the time he’s joined Bucky on the couch, his feet have left the ground. 

. . .

“For fuck’s sake, Steve!”, Sam groans, clenching his teeth together as Steve tosses him an ice pack. “You could stand to be more gentle, you know.”

“You’ve got a fever, Sam”, Steve sighs, sitting opposite the ratty loveseat he’s pulled up before him. “We don’t have time for gentle. If it doesn’t come down by noon-”   
“Before you say it.” Sam shifts from where he’s laid out on the couch, barely suppressing a whimper as his stitches pull. “We can’t risk it. Not until we’re sure we weren’t followed.” Given how shittily their recon and retreat had gone, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were. Steve’s head hasn’t exactly been on his shoulders lately, consumed as it is with finding Bucky. Add Sam’s sudden bout of inattentiveness, and, well, the odds haven’t exactly been in their favor.

“Where were you today anyway?”, Steve asks, unwrapping Sam’s wound. 

“Probably the same place as you”, Sam retorts, allowing his head to fall back against the moldy cushion of his armest. Fuck, his head is  _ swimming. _

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Steve stares, his expression visibly unpleased before the room filters between light and dark, like the world is someone’s camera.

“...Sam”, Steve’s voice greets him, teasing, like a feather on the wind of a hot summer day.

“Mm?” He feels hot. And numb. And his exit wound is itching. Seeking out a hospital wouldn’t be the greatest option, but hell if he couldn’t use some painkillers right about now. Or something to at least make the lights stay still.

“Sam. Sam, I need you to talk to me”, Steve says, voice sounding louder.   
Sam peels open an eye and looks out at him. “About what?”

“Anything”, Steve says, and his voice has gone shrill.

“Stevie, I’m not gonna die.” At the very worst, he’s gonna have to shed his mortal form for a bit, spend some time upstairs while it heals. Of course, Steve doesn’t know that, wouldn’t know any of that because Sam never fucking told him. Sam opens his other eye, swallowing bloody spit rising in his mouth, and looks at Steve. He may not be much of the protecting sort right now, but he can soothe Steve. At the very least he can do that.

“My roommate”, Sam starts, Bucky’s name eager to leap free from his tongue.

“James.”   
“Yeah.” Sam smiles, and, all at once, he feels a great, heavy blanket settling over him. And then a quilt and a dozen or so bedsheets because Sam’s apparently started to shiver, and it’s freaking Steve out. “He’s pretty cool, pun very much intended.”   
“Uh huh.” The joke goes entirely over Steve’s head, who, in that moment, probably attributes the rambling to delirium than anything concrete. 

“He likes to put bananas on my pancakes”, Sam mumbles, a smile upon his face. “And he stays up all night with me watching movies.”   
Steve returns to the room, carrying a drenched washcloth in one hand and a bowl of water in the other. He crouches, presses the cloth against Sam’s head, and sighs, chest heaving with the effort. He sits there, gently pressing against the skin of his forehead, and whispers, “He sounds like a really swell fella”.

“Oh, he is.” Sam leans into the feel of the cloth and closes his eyes. “That feels really nice, man.”

“I’m gonna call Nat”, Steve whispers. “We’re gonna get you some help.” He dips the rag back into the bowl of water. “I’m glad you and James are getting along better.”

“Yeah”, Sam snorts, humming at the return of the cold. “Me, too.” Because Bucky really is a cool guy. Sure, they’d hadn’t started off peas and carrots, but now? Well, not to be sappy...but he really cares about Bucky. And he knows Bucky cares about him, too.

And it’s nice. Most of his relationships have some sort of connection to his work, be it Angel or Avenger or Vet. And Sam loves them, truly, he’d never replace them for anything. But it feels good to know that some part of him exists outside of what he is, some part that can make a ghost with perpetual amnesia carve out a place in his memory for him.

Steve hit it right on the mark. Because Bucky is swell. Asshole exterior aside, he’s actually really kind. And he’s considerate and funny and thoughtful. He doesn’t get hung up on Sam’s faults, and Sam doesn’t on his, and it’s just so wonderful being able to feel that kind of comfortable around someone. Comfort is many things, and he knows it comes in different forms, and with Bucky it’s like…

It’s like…

Oh.

_ Oh. _

“Sam.” Steve presses a hand against Sam’s cheek and watches him, his eyes rich with worry. “Sam, are you okay?”

Sam just wraps a hand around Steve’s wrists and closes his eyes. His stomach feels funny. Not for the first time that day, he feels like his wings are gonna rupture out of his spleen. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine”, he says, leaning into Steve’s touch. As if on instinct, Steve scoots closer, wrapping his arms around Sam and pulling him closer.

“You’re gonna be okay”, Steve promises, and Sam hums, gently rubbing a hand against Steve’s back. This is nice, too. Being tended to, as opposed to doing the tending. Sam burrows as close as he can into Steve, surrounded by the warmth of him and his makeshift nest.

“Tell me more about James”, Steve whispers, and Sam smiles, his whole body relaxing. He’s sure it’ll be an entirely different story once the shock wears off. But for the moment?   
For the moment, he’s entirely content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY!!!  
> I know I don't usually do two updates a week, but school just got cancelled because of the coronavirus for the next couple of weeks (maybe 'til the end of the semester?????), and I'm honestly kind of panicking. I figured why not turn all this nervous energy into something productive? I'm sorry if this chapter's not as good as other chapters. My mind's not in the greatest place right now so please bear with me.  
> I hope y'all like this chapter and make sure y'all are staying safe out there.

“And then”, Jaime says, eyes narrowed. “Traci had to walk the whole way home. Do you know how far she lives from school*?”

Sam shakes his head.

“Two hours!”, Jaime informs him, two fingers raised in indignation. “And it was raining! She could have gotten sick!”

“Jaime.” Sam bends down to collect his Snicker bar from the bottom of the vending machine, smiling at the feel of two bars brushing against his fingers. He grabs the two candies, then turns to face Jaime, his eyes fond as he watches his thin, blue wings flutter furiously. “I know that sucks, but people do occasionally miss the bus. It doesn’t mean the driver’s out to get her.”

“Yeah.” Jaime huffs and places his hands on his hips. “But if her dad wasn’t such an ass, she wouldn’t even have to worry about the bus.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then passes Jaime his other Snicker bar. "Maybe but if you pull another stunt like that, nothing I say will keep you from being put on suspension." Just when he’s about to launch into the Elder-approved lecture on overmeddling, his breath gets stuck in his chest and his eyes glow a fierce, shining brown. Sam stumbles over, panting as his wings splay out at his sides, anxious to be airborne.

_ Steve _ , he thinks, and a cold bucket of panic splashes over him. 

Jaime just watches him, eyes full of wonder. "Is it your charge?”, he asks, barely keeping his excitement at bay. Sam doesn’t blame him for it. The bond between an Angel and their charge grows to be more intense as the Angel ages. So while the outrage of seeing your charge miss the bus can be quite a force to reckon with, it’s nothing like what a Senior Angel would experience. Not necessarily stronger. Where a Junior bond is rich with passion, a Senior bond is more mellow, not quite prone to the irrationalities of youth but heavily riddled with a sense of existential being.

It’s hard to explain, especially when said charge is subconsciously calling out to him so  _ strongly _ .

_ For fuck’s, man, what is it now? _

Sam shudders, feathers standing on end like the back of a startled cat, and wipes a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah, it’s him. Listen, Jaime, I, uh-"

"I get it”, Jaime says, practically vibrating with excitement. “But you gotta tell us what happened in class on Thursday."

Sam rolls his eyes, waves the kid off, and takes off down the aisle with a great flap of his wings. He forgoes the parking, instead propelling himself faster and faster until he’s breaking through the plane separating their two worlds.

“Where are you?”, he murmurs, dipping beneath the clouds and searching, feverently, across the earth.

Within minutes, he’s found Steve in Fresno, picking a fight with some guy in a ski-mask just off an abandoned highway. Steve doesn't question Sam’s sudden appearance, just smiles real pretty and passes the guy to him.

Hes about to ask what's going on because their bond wouldn't feel like that over petty robbery when Steve lifts a finger to his lips and points to a warehouse to their left.

Which, okay, the robbery is a part of something bigger, obviously. But it’d be nice know just what the “something bigger” is. Sam doesn’t have the time to ask because Steve disappears after briefing him on the design of the building.

"I thought guardians were supposed to stop their charges from getting into shit." Bucky materializes beside him from where he's crouched behind a tattered curtain and raises his eyebrows.

"Yes." Sam cocks the safety off his pistol and adjusts his goggles. They irritate the shit out of his eyes but, you know, appearances. "And when we cant, we deescalate."

Bucky looks at Sam's guns and winces. "What part of this is deescalating?” His eyes get that fidgety look, the one that means he’s about to go into a stupor and disappear for a few days. 

This one seems a little different, though. A little less to do with his amnesia and more to do with the situation at hand. 

"Trust me”, Sam says, his voice coming out soft with hardly any effort at all. “Steve’s a reckless little shit, but he doesn't just go around picking fights." Bucky gives him a look, and Sam thinks, okay, that's exactly what he does. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be, like teaching homeowners how to terrorize families?"

"If that's a beetlejuice reference, I will literally die. Again. And it's not my fault", Bucky says with a shrug. "I got lonely."

Sam turns to look at him, trying to discern if he's joking or not, when a hand suddenly lands upon his shoulder.

"Sam", Steve says, voice low and eyes wide with concern. "Who are you talking to?"

"Uh, you?" Behind him, Sam hears Bycky snort; Sam rolls his eyes, and Steve frowns. "Eyes ahead, ears open. We don’t want them to know we’re here", he mutters before gesturing forward.

Sam nods, then takes a moment to shoot Bucky a glare. When Bucky just gives him a wide-toothed grin, Sam ignores him, turning and joining Steve in his surveillance of the warehouse .

It's a relatively simple mission, Sam thinks, once Steve finally gets around to telling him what the mission is. With that being said, however, there are enough guards that Sam understands why his bond had gotten squeamish. Super-soldier or not, Steve isn’t immune to overextending himself.

And apparently, he also isn’t immune to the bullshit explanation Sam gives him about his happening to be “in the neighborhood” at the same time as him.

“You know I trust you, Sam”, Steve whispers, catching his shield as it bounces off the head of a woman guarding an industrial door. “And I love having you on missions with me, I do, it’s just...how are you  _ always _ here?”

Sam kicks his foot against the door, scowling at it. If Steve wasn’t here, he could plow straight through this thing. But he’s suspicious enough as it is, and he doesn’t think Steve would believe him if he told him he fell into a vat of toxic waste over the weekend.

“What’s behind this door anyway?”, Sam mutters, ignoring the glare Steve tosses in his direction.

“Some lifeform from another planet. The facility’s been abandoned, but people have been trying to get their hands on it for a while now. I figured I’d intervene.” Steve brushes a hand over the door, purses his lips, then says, “Your turn”.

Sam’s quiet for a moment before he says, “It’s my job”.

A shock rings out above their heads, and they both duck. Steve cuts Sam a look and hisses, “What job?”

Whatever response Sam might’ve had is instantly consumed by the firefight.

Meanwhile, Bucky stands beside them, watching the scene unfold with increasing discomfort.

They clear the base in a matter of hours, securing the “alien lifeform” for World Security before driving home in uncomfortable silence and arriving back at Avenger Tower just in time for dinner.

Had it not been for Sam sporadically arguing with Bucky throughout the day, he might’ve had to deal with having The Talk with Steve.

As it stands, he winds up having an entirely different discussion.

"I mean it, Sam." Steve slips a microwaveable dinner into Sam's hands, then sits on the other side of the couch. It’s newer than Sam’s, not yet broken in because they usually wind up chilling at Sam's house. Avenger Tower was closer off the freeway, though, and neither of them had felt like driving much further. "Take a day, take a week”, Steve says, and Sam takes a sip of his beer. “Come on." Steve bumps their shoulders together, giving Sam a wobbly smile. "We can go birdwatching."

Bucky appears beside Sam, their forearms ever so slightly brushing against one another. "Birdwatching?", he questions, eyes light and soft with amusement. "What, the bridge game got cancelled?"

Steve pauses from where he’d begun to rise from the couch. His own dinner sits, forgotten in his lap. From where Sam sits on his side of the couch, he can see the way the muscles in his back go tense, veins almost popping out of his skin. Sam's instinct is to bring his finger closer to his pistol is tucked away, to flare out his wings and shield Steve within them. Instead, he calms himself, allowing his eyes to flash a golden-brown to better take in their environment for any signs of disturbance.

But there's no one there. It's just the three of them.

Slowly, Steve turns to face Sam. His eyes drift to his right, where Bucky sits, watchung the two with a curious head tilt, like always. Then he realizes Steve’s gaze is directed at him and frowns, turning to look over his shoulder.

"Uh, Sam", Bucky says, laughing despite the tremble to his voice. "I think your friends broken-"

"Bucky?", Steve sags, sounding so  _ hurt _ that Sam’s bond flares up on his end, as if someone’s set fire to it.

Bucky frowns, movements fidgety, eyes rabbity in that way that means he's ready to disappear.

But he doesn't. He just looks at Steve. And the longer he looks at him, the less anxious he seems. On the contrary, for the first time since Sam's known him, the everpresent fever-like sheen to his eyes recedes; he defrosts, and he rises to his feet. He blinks, skin flushing pink, and takes a step forward. "...Steve?”

Sam looks between the two of them. He feels a tug reminiscent of their bond, but this one’s different. It's not calling out for Steve.

"He’s not evil or anything", Sam starts to say once his words have returned to him, realizing that a man suddenly appearing in his apartment would probably scare someone who doesn’t know about the supernatural. "He’s a-"

"Ghost", Steve finishes, almost hysterical laughter bubbling out of him. "Y-yeah. I know."

Sam trails off, looking between Steve and Bucky and feeling like he's back in school and someone else has answered a question before him. "I’m gonna go reheat this", he says awkwardly. He sees Bucky dart his eyes to him, but that's it.

Within a second, they're back to Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think and I hope y'all are all okay. Be safe and be calm and be as happy as you can.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Heads up, we're nearing the end of this fic! I'm editing as I go, so exact numbers could change, but I've got about nine pages left of this. Things are gonna get kinda angsty in the next few chapters so buckle up!

Steve does most of the explaining, with Bucky standing close to him, like he’s afraid he’ll disappear if he moves too far away.

Bucky was born a ghost, because that's a thing, but "died" in '45 after falling from a train during a Commando mission. From there, everything else falls in line with what he already knows.

Which, to be fair, isn’t a lot. But Bucky’s gone kind of quiet, kind of distant, so they don’t prod.

Anyway, the topic of the past quickly breezes by, with the present and future taking the forefront of the conversation. Sam sits there, wings straining against the inside of his back, and just watches the two before gently suggesting they go out.

And that’s exactly what they do. Bucky and Steve, they spend the whole night out, catching up, presumably. Sam remains on the couch, one wing thrown up over the back of the couch and the other resting over him like a blanket. Every so often, he casts a glance towards the clock and then the door, wondering just when they’ll come back until the exhaustion of the day catches up with him and drags him into a restless slumber.

By the time they stumble back home, it's well past sunup, and Sams already gone to work at the V.A.

He comes back home hours later, not sure if he’ll be greeted by Bucky like usual or an empty apartment.

When he finds it’s Bucky, he lets out a sigh of relief and the glamour for his wings fall. “Hey, man”, he says, standing awkwardly at the door before moving towards his room.

Bucky smiles, remaining a few paces behind as he follows him. “Hey.”

Sam shrugs off his jacket, hangs it up on the hook jutting from his closet door, and forces himself to take in a deep breath. He looks over his shoulder, to where Bucky’s lingering in the hallway, and swallows. “How’s, uh, how’s Steve?”

Bucky smiles, shaking his head. “Freaked out.”   
“Right.” He’d be, too, if he’d just found out his best friend had come back from the dead. Taking a moment longer than needed to search for a sweater, he then calls out, voice masked in nonchalance, “And you?”   
“Freaked out.” Bucky’s quiet a moment, and Sam grits his teeth because shit. They’ve never been this awkward before. Not even when they first met and that had to have been one of the worst fucking introductions of his entire life.

“How could you not have known it was me?”, Bucky suddenly asks, and Sam turns his attention away from the closet to meet Bucky’s gaze. Only, Bucky’s gaze is on the floor. 

Sam slips his hands into the pockets of his khakis and just lets out a breath of air. “...Hindsight’s 20/20?”

“I tried to kill you”, Bucky says to the carpet. He looks up, and his face is blue and covered in frost. If he moves, he’d shatter. “For fuck’s sake, Sam, I was in your history books!” 

“In my defense”, Sam says, scratching the back of his head. “I was more a science kid than a history one. And as for everything else…” He trails off, thinking until he settles upon, “I only really got a good look at you when you tore my wings out.” 

“Oh, my God.” Bucky’s hand comes up to run shakily through his hair. The temperature in the room plummets, and it takes everything in Sam not to shudder. “Those weren’t your real wings, were they? They-they were metal, but that-that was a disguise, wasn’t it?” Bucky inhales sharply, his eyes trained, unwavering, upon Sam. “They were metal, weren’t they? I’m not remembering that wrong?” 

“Bucky-”, Sam starts and takes a step forward.

“Oh, God…” Before Sam can say anything else, Bucky phases through the floor, disappearing within seconds.

Sam groans and closes his eyes. “Fuck.” He wipes a hand over his face, startling at the two shrieks that emerge from below.

Bucky passes through his floor, then darts out the window, cheeks a deep shade of blue. Sam just stares, frozen with perplexion until a knock sounds at his door. He shakes his head, flies to the door, and quickly finds a disgruntled-looking Brunnilde standing in his doorway.

“A ghost just scared the feathers off of Clint”, she says, eyebrows raised. “You wouldn’t happen to know him by any chance now, would you?”

Sam looks over his shoulder, staring solemnly at the window Bucky had flown out of before turning back to face her.

“Sam”, Clint says, minutes later in his apartment. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter, and, sure enough, there are yellow feathers scattered all about the floor. His cheeks are red, and Sam smiles ruefully, wrapping his arms around him. Clint just grumbles into his cup of coffee and mutters, “You are the only person I know that could live with a guy for six months and not know he just tried to kill you.” Clint licks his lips, eyes narrowed before he muses, “‘Cept maybe Bats.” Brunnhilde snorts and asks, “Does that make Bucky Joker?” 

“Excuse me”, Sam drawls, leaning his head back. “Don’t mind me, I’m just having a crisis.”

Brunnhilde leans her head against his shoulder. “Come on, Sammy. For months, you’ve been talking about wanting them to know each other.”   
“I know, but it’s different.”  _ Stilted _ is the word. And it sucks because things had been going so well, for all three of them. You’d think having everything out in the open would make things better, but it hasn’t even been a day yet, and it feels like there’s a choice that needs to be made.

“Just carry on as usual”, Clint suggests and presses closer to him, one wing flapping lazily against Sam’s leg. “Don’t make it weird.”

“It already is weird”, Sam sighs. 

“Then unweird it”, Brunnhilde says softly. “Come on, you’re the shrink. Put the skills to work.”

Sam rolls his eyes, watching as Brunnhilde spreads her swan-like wings and rests one upon her leg. Not even a moment later, his own are spreading, wrapping around the two protectively, as if seeking to keep the two grounded in a way they’ve never been able to for anyone else. “I’d rather not psychoanalyze myself, or my relationships for that matter”, Sam murmurs, closing his eyes and pulling the two closer to him. “I’ll just handle this the old-fashioned way.”

“Ignore it?”, Brunnhilde asks, her wings rising and falling with the slow pace of her breathing.

“Bingo.”

“Heartbreak, Sammy baby”, Clint murmurs, his wings finally ceasing in their trembling. “Heartbreak.”

Sam breathes in, and he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, I'm gonna be working on a Mantis/Nebula fic after this so keep your eyes open for that. It was another one that I deleted and regretted never posting lol, so it's gonna be fun to finally be putting it out into the world.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Feedback's always appreciate (comments, kudos, bookmarks, anything) so lemme know what you're thinking 😊😊😊. See y'all next week!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually having a lot of fun with this story. Sambucky's like one of my favorite ships, but this is the first time I've written anything other than a one shot for them, so it's been cool exploring them and their dynamic throughout this.   
> That being said, who's ready to continue getting their heart ripped out for the next couple of chapters 😭😭😭?

Things are...different.

And it’s a good different! He doesn’t have to hide Bucky anymore, and, honestly, that’s all he’s wanted for months now. So it’s a good thing.

It’s just a little weird is all. Because Bucky used to be his friend, his neat, little secret, and now, Steve knows more about him than Sam ever could. And Bucky gets so excited to see him, and he’s never cold anymore, not even to the point of casting frost on windows or Sam’s eyebrows, and it’s all very…

Friendly.

For a moment, Sam allows himself to think of the moment when Bucky had asked if Steve and he were romantic. He’d been, well, not necessarily  _ eager _ , but the thought that Bucky cared enough to ask, to maybe feel something more than just friendship between them...it’d felt good.

And now it just feels weird. And Sam feels irrefutably and irritatingly bitter. It’s unbecoming of an Angel to feel such negative, such envious emotions, particularly concerning his charge and the man he’d grown to know as friend. Angels, they’re supposed to be happy, supportive, ever willing to put their charge’s needs before their own, a feat that wouldn’t feel nearly as impossible if Sam hadn’t gone, broke the rules, and befriended Steve in the first damn place.

Of course, once Sam comes to that thought, he immediately feels remorse, wings drooping with shame because fuck. He could never resent his friendship with Steve, not for anything. He’s being ridiculous. And by everything, he’s being a pisspoor excuse for an Angel. Even the stuffiest of Elders, the ones that never cease to voice their contempt of Sam, would be horrified if they knew of his predicament. And even worse, if anyone knew of his state of mind in response to the “predicament”...well...needless to say, it’d be worse than someone walking in on him in the middle of a molting.

“Hey”, Sam drawls one day as Bucky teleports into the apartment, snow clinging to his hair and shoulders. 

Bucky smiles, stomping his boots out on the mat, and moves towards the kitchen. “Hey.”   
Sam drums his fingers against the back of the couch. A silence settles upon them, awkward and pervasive as Sam watches Bucky retrieving the jug of orange juice from the fridge. “There’s gonna be a screening of Poltergeist at the Y tonight”, Sam eventually says, the words weighing heavier than they ought to. “Did you...did you still wanna see it?”

Bucky gives him a guilty look, lowering the jug before sitting it upon the countertop. “Yeah”, he says. “But I...I kinda made plans...with Steve.”

“Oh.” Sam blinks, then, noticing how guilty Bucky looks, adds, “It’s fine. There’re gonna be showings all week, we can always, uh, you know, catch it later”.

“I can always cancel”, Bucky says awkwardly. His skin’s taken on a shade of light blue, something that only seems to happen whenever Sam’s around.

Sam swallows, willing a smile to his face despite the tight feeling in his chest. His wings have drawn tight against him, and he says, “No, man, it’s fine”, adding a chuckle in for good measure. “I know you guys probably have a lot to catch up on.”

Bucky bites his lip, his appearance flickering like the signal on a bad T.V. “Are you sure?”   
“Hell, yeah, I’m sure.” Sam turns off the T.V., rising from the couch with a stretch, and starts for the hall. “Tell, uh, tell Steve I said ‘hey’.”   
“Yeah”, Bucky says with a huff of a laugh as Sam passes him by. “No problem.”   
Sam takes a shower, listening intently for the sound of the door closing before stepping out. He stands there a moment, the apartment feeling colder than it has in a while, and allows his wings to wrap tighter around him. For the first time in a while, the gesture feels more suffocating than it does comforting, like he’s been stuffed and sealed inside a pillow with a too-tight casing.

Then he sits back down on the couch and rewatches Jumanji for the umteempth time this week. Unsurprisingly, by the time he’s fallen asleep, Bucky has still yet to return.

. . .

Steve and Bucky are out kayaking when Clint and Brunnhilde stop by.

It doesn’t take much for him to start ranting, a fact which seems to take all three by surprise. Of the trio, Clint’s always been the more talkative, with Sam existing as the medium between his motor-mouth and Brunnhilde’s penchant for snarky quietude. There have only been three other times Sam’s been like this: one, after Jimmy’s death; two, after he first got his papers for Senior Angel; and three, when he decided he wanted to open the V.A.

Neither of his friends comment on this, and he’s grateful for that. It feels like he’s had this sinking weight on his chest, and hell if it doesn’t feel good to alleviate some of the pressure.

“I don’t blame Steve”, Sam sighs, sipping at his beer before pressing the neck of the bottle against his cheek. He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “If I ever got Riley back, I’d be thrilled but…”

It’s weird. Okay, it’s  _ weird _ . They teach you a lot of things at the Academy, but one thing they neglected to teach was what to do if your charge turned out to be the long-lost “friend” of the ghost haunting your apartment that you also happen to have maybe a major crush on.

(Although, to be fair, it was probably somewhere underneath the “Never Directly Engage Your Charge” clause. He most likely just glossed over it, in the midst of, you know, completely and flagrantly steamrolling past that clause.)

“Have you talked to them?”, Clint asks from where he’s sprawled out in Sam’s lap.

“No”, Sam stares down the neck of his beer, watching the way the light liquid sloshes against the sides of the bottle. “Steve just found out he’s alive, and Bucky’s just got his memory back. It’d be kinda weird for me to spring this on them.” He hesitates a moment, debating whether or not to continue before quietly adding, “And I don’t want Bucky to think I’m jealous.”   
“But you are jealous”, Brunnhilde notes, curled pleasantly around him.

“That’s besides the point.” Sam sits his bottle down on the floor, letting his head lean against the cushion of their makeshift nest. Fuck. How did he let it get this far?

When exactly did things change? When did Bucky go from being his friend to meaning this much to him? 

_ This _ is why management doesn’t allow Angels to get involved with their charges. By some miraculous stroke of luck, Clint’s and Brunnhilde have gotten away with it, without any of the pesky, little feelings Sam’s dealing with. But ask almost any other Angel, and they’ll tell you nine times out of ten, it doesn’t work out. Riley befriended his charge, went all the way to the military with him, and it cost him his life.

With that pleasant, ever-lingering reminder, you’d think Sam would know better. But he took his chance, and hell if he isn’t paying for it.

Clint was right. Steve did break his heart. Because he may not be his type, but his best friend sure is.

“Sam”, Brunnhilde says softly, brushing the back of her fingers up and down his cheek. “Take the week off.”   
Sam just pretends he doesn’t hear her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, the next chapter's gonna be more heavy on the angst than usual, and it's gonna have to do with Riley so keep a look out.  
> Also, thanks for reading! I love feedback so don't be afraid to let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the short chapter but I hope y'all like it. I was planning to write more, but things are kinda hectic, so this is it for the week. Someday, I'd like to write more about Sam's background, but for now, I think this is a pretty good start.

Sam has his first fight with Bucky after what was supposed to be a stakeout of an ex-HYDRA base.

It’s annoying, yes, but stakeout-turned-shitstorm is something of a norm for him, for Steve, too. At some point, Sam figures it was probably the norm for Bucky. But that was a while ago.

It’s not nearly as bad as it could be. Sure, realizing Sam’s end of the comms. has gotta be shitty, and a dislocated wing, admittedly, does always look worse than it actually is. And the cuts marring his body aren’t exactly helping matters, but, all things considered? This could’ve ended a lot worse.

“Steve’s fine”, Sam grumbles, brushing past Bucky as he collapses onto the couch. He winces, staring at his crooked wing with a heavy sigh. “Said he needed the night to himself. I’ll check on him in the morning-”

“For fuck’s sake, Sam, I know he’s okay”, Bucky snaps, eyes narrowed as he watches him. “You guys said you had a plan, we went over it six fucking times. In what part of that plan did it say for you to break off on your own?”

“It was a hidden clause”, Sam snorts. Gently, he lets his wing rest beside him, already dreading being grounded for the next few weeks. “And in my defense, the plan hadn’t accounted for anything more than a hundred people on the ground.”

“So you just decided to go it alone?”, Bucky asks, eyebrows raised.

Sam nods. “Basically, yeah.”

Bucky wipes his hand over his face, an empty chuckle leaving his chest as he turns his back to Sam. “God, it’s like looking in a fuckin’ mirror.”

“Right.” Sam sits up slowly, careful not to disturb his wing too much. “And just what is that supposed to me?”

“You and Steve”, Bucky sighs, tilting his head back. “Two hotheads that never know when to call it quits.”

His good wing flaps against the couch, and he rises to his feet, ignoring the unceasing need to turn his back to this entire conversation and fly away. “You weren’t there, Bucky. We were getting swarmed.”   
“And if something had happened?” At last, Bucky turns to face him. His face is blue, a thick coating of frost creeping across the expanse of his face. Sam grits his teeth, a sudden rush of guilt coursing through him. “If you had made the wrong call-”

“I didn’t.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “Bucky.” He inhales sharply and shakes his head. “He’s my charge. My entire life I’ve been preparing to look out for him. And when I wasn’t, I was looking out for other people; my family, my Squadron.” He turns and starts towards the kitchen. “You don’t need to worry about Steve. I already do enough of that.”   
Bucky just trails after him. “Sam, I don’t think you’re getting what I’m saying. I’m worried about  _ you _ .” He places his hand on Sam’s shoulder and spins him back around to face him. “I don’t think you understand what it means to be constantly worried that the two people in your life aren’t gonna make it back home.” His frost crosses over into ice, crackling like a frozen lake in mid-winter. His eyes, so grey and usually so soft and kind, are wide with an intensity so strong it makes Sam feel more grounded than his wing ever could.

“Bucky”, Sam begins, his chest feeling tight.

“I just want you to be careful”, Bucky says shakily. “Or at the very least, to follow your own fucking plans.”

“And if the plan doesn’t work?”, Sam retorts, his voice rising. 

“Then it doesn’t fucking work and you come back home!”

“The thing is, Buck, I think you’re the one that’s not understanding.” The tightness in his chest spreads, seemingly robbing him of all the breath in his lungs. “If I take my sweetass time with this shit, anything could happen. Okay?” He laughs, and it sounds weird coming from him, sounds like something that has no right coming from his mouth. “I could get separated from Steve. I could let a goon get away.” He grits his teeth, breathing through pants, and tiredly looks over at Bucky. “I could be late.”

Bucky stares at him. He looks...he looks confused, but some of the anger has receded from his eyes. Sam doesn’t know what to think of that.

“Shoulders back”, Sam continues quietly. “Head high, never divert from the plan for a  _ goddamn _ thing, AND FOR WHAT?” His cheeks are wet. His wings, they’re trembling; the left one has curled affectionately around his waist, and the right one, bless, is trying to do the same despite its dislocation. Sam closes his eyes and drops his hands on top of his head, forcing himself to breathe. “To see my best friend since forever fucking crash and to just fly there and not know if its because I’m fucking scared or if I’m just that good at sticking to the plan.”

Quiet. An unbearable quiet. It lingers for fuck knows how long, but somewhere amongst it all, Bucky takes a step forward, and then another, and then another, and wraps his arm around Sam, holding him close as he gently guides them both to the floor.

Sam closes his eyes and leans against his shoulder. Bucky is still so cold, but he can’t find it in himself to pull away. “If I stick to the plan...even my own...I could lose him”, he murmurs against the wet fabric of Bucky’s shirt. “And I can’t lose somebody like that again.”

Bucky’s quiet for a minute more before he whispers, “And what if we lost you?” When Sam doesn’t answer, he holds him tighter, and Sam just presses his face into the crook of his neck despite it being colder there than just about any other part of his body. Bucky rocks him back and forward, humming a song he doesn’t recognize under his breath.

“Angels are supposed to look after their charges”, Bucky mutters. “Who looks after you?”

“Buck”, Sam says tiredly. “That’s...that’s not how it works.”   
“Yeah, well, maybe it should.” He pulls away, keeping his arm wrapped firmly around him, and looks at Sam, a teasing smile upon his face. “Sam Wilson, you reckless fuck, I volunteer to be your guardian.”

_ Brunnhilde and Clint are never gonna let me hear the end of this.  _ Sam just smiles up at him and snuggles closer. His heart surges in his chest when Bucky breathes ice against his neck. He half-heartedly swats at him, closes his eyes, and says, “Well, with a proposal like that, how could a guy say ‘no’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback's always appreciated!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! So wow, we've only got like three chapters left? I plan to post another chapter tomorrow, so we're coming up on the end, it's wild 😭😭😭

Sam’s going over his schedule for the week when Bucky appears. His throat goes dry at the sight of Bucky, noting the blue tint to his cheeks and the frost covering his eyebrows.

“Sam”, Bucky says in a tight voice.

“Buck”, Sam says in return. He sets aside his plate of mashed potatoes and macaroni, thinking of something to say before allowing silence to fall between them. Things have been weird, an entirely new level of weird, since their argument a few weeks back. Bucky isn’t avoiding him, per se, but Sam does get the feeling that he’s trying to give him some space. Oddly enough, with all that’s happened since Bucky and Steve reunited, some time on his own is probably what Sam needs.

That being said, it’s not necessarily what he wants. Besides, he’s spent more time on his own this past month than he has in years. He doesn’t think it’s so much to want to spend some time with his friend.

“How’s life?”, Sam proposes, clearing his throat.

Bucky bites his lower lip. “Good. You?”

“Good.” 

“Good.”

_ This is so fucking weird.  _ Sam scratches the back of his head and sighs. “You, uh, you talk to Steve? I think he-”   
“No”, Bucky snaps. His cheeks take on a deeper shade of blue, and he shakes his head, inhaling deeply before continuing. “No. Not, uh, not for a few days.”

“Oh.” Sam winces at the glee that surges within him. Two of his best friends maybe-fighting is not something he should be celebrating. “Did something happen?”

Bucky slips his hand into his pocket and stares at the carpet. “No. I just...I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinking.”

Sam nods. “Okay.”   
“...I asked Steve to show me my file.” He turns to face Sam, and his eyes carry within them the same cold afflicting his body. “I needed to know.”

“Buck”, Sam starts, but Bucky just shakes his head.

“I’m fine”, he tells Sam, and something about the way he says the words makes Sam think they’re not the first time he’s said them without meaning them. “I just...needed a minute to myself.” He smiles and gives a light chuckle. “I love him, but it’s hard to be around him sometimes. He’s so…” He trails off, words vanishing as quickly as they’d come, but Sam gets it. There are a lot of words that could follow that, and Sam gets each and every one of them. Steve’s a great guy, but sometimes his Stevieness can get to be a bit much. 

Placing his hands in his lap, Sam watches as Bucky takes a seat on the couch. It only takes a moment of being in his presence for him to notice that he’s as cold as he looks. He’s practically oozing chills, so much that it makes his wings shudder and twitch, aching to wrap around them both. “Bucky?”   
“Hm?”, Bucky says, turning to look at him. He frowns, taking in Sam’s worried gaze before flushing and looking away. “It’s nothing. I’m just cold.” He presses his fingers against his temple, then murmurs, “Why am I cold?”

Sam just reaches out, casting his hand over Bucky’s. “You’re always cold”, he says, forcing enough certainty into his voice so that Bucky believes it. Bucky stares at him a moment before a sheepish smile spreads across his face.

“Right”, he says with an embarrassed laugh. “M-Must be a ghost thing.”

Sam watches him. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He pulls his lip between his teeth, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and his wings twitching irritably behind him. Before he can talk himself out of it, he lifts a wing and drapes it over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky startles, eyes wide as they flick to him. Sam gives him an awkward smile, and Bucky breathes, tentatively relaxing into the embrace. Sam licks his lips, and his wing curls ever so slightly against Bucky, pulling him closer. Bucky blinks at him, and Sam laughs, feeling his feathers ruffle against them.

“Uh”, he says, clearing his throat. “Is...Is that better?”

Bucky just stares at him. Then, slowly, as if hesitant, he smiles. And he nods. “Yeah.”   
“Good.”

_ This is nice _ , he decides. He doesn’t want to undermine Bucky and Steve’s relationship, he doesn’t, but even before his argument with Bucky...well...he hadn’t been seeing him very often. Steve, either, but Sam spent his whole life waiting for Steve, so, though it may suck, he’s kind of used to it. Meanwhile, Bucky is Sam’s roommate, and it feels like he hardly ever sees him.

“Steve and me are going out for drinks later”, Bucky says. If possible, Sam just pulls him closer. Bucky closes his eyes, breathing softly, smoothly, and then asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine”, Sam assures him.

Bucky leans so that his head rests on Sam’s shoulder. He’s freezing to the touch, but it’s the warmest Sam’s felt in weeks. “You’ve been kinda quiet lately.” His voice lowers before he continues. “Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

“No”, Sam blurts out before he can think better of it.

Bucky just breathes, cold air billowing over Sam wings, startling them to attention. “...Is it about-”   
“No, no.” Sam shakes his head. “I’m over that.”   
Bucky cranes his head so that he can look at him. Skeptical eyebrows, that’s all Sam sees, and if this wasn’t a super serious conversation, he’d probably burst into laughter at the sight. “Really?”, Bucky asks him.   
Sam can feel it. The words swelling in his chest like a falcon’s breast just before it breaks into flight. He closes his eyes, pulls his feet up onto the couch with them, and just breathes. He pushes the words down. Almost trembling, he brings his other wing around them, a cocoon against the warmth of the apartment. “It’s nothing”, Sam mutters. “I’m just really glad you’re here.”

“...You don’t have to worry about me, you know. Or-or Steve. I know we haven’t really talked since...” Bucky sets his hand upon Sam’s wing. When Sam doesn’t push him away, he burrows his fingers within the feathers, watching as they react to his touch. 

“You were avoiding me”, Sam says, eyelids fluttering as he leans into Bucky’s fingers.

“I thought you were avoiding me”, Bucky returns as he looks up from Sam’s wing. When all he gets is eyes swimming with confusion, Bucky shakes his head and sighs. “Anyway. Nothing’s gonna happen to us. Not while we’re all worried out of our heads for each other.” 

Sam scowls, and his wings twitch, feathers falling to rest tautly against his wings. “You don’t know that.” 

“No”, Bucky admits with half a smile. “But I am a ghost. And you are an Angel. And I’m seriously starting to think Steve’s being a jinx has started workin’ in his favor.”

Sam snorts. He doesn’t know if he quite believes that, but it does make him feel a little better.

“You sure you’re okay?”, Bucky asks, closing his eyes as he snuggles closer to him.   
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” Things may not be perfect. Sam’s not gonna slow down anytime soon, and, if Bucky has his way, he’s gonna be joining Sam and Steve on their missions in the coming weeks. And he doubts this sudden weirdness between them is gonna go away, but cuddling with Bucky on their living room couch? Knowing that, despite everything, all their relationships with each seem to be somewhat intact?

It’s nowhere near perfect. But it’s a good thing nonetheless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback's always appreciated!  
> Also, tomorrow, there's gonna be another revelation lol, I can't wait for y'all to see it 😂😂😂.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Don't forget, there was a chapter posted yesterday, so check that out if you haven't!

At Clint’s pestering, Sam takes a couple of sick days.

And, contrary to popular belief, it’s not because he’s depressed. It’s because he’s molting.

And a little down, sure, but the point is he’s shedding his plumage. Even the strongest, most intricate of glamours wouldn’t be able to explain the little trail of feathers he leaves everywhere. That and the “mild discomfort” of keeping his wings in his back generally becomes an unbearable, mind-numbing pain while molting, so there’s no use in keeping up the glamour anyway.

But if he’s being honest, he’s also kind of brooding. There are salons, equipped with beauticians that know exactly how to get an Angel feeling all clean and pretty again. Sam has an appointment at the salon Clint works set for this weekend, but, for the moment, he’ll just remain in his apartment, wallowing in his misery.

He’s in the living room, flexing his pitiful, half-naked wings in the mirror when the door suddenly opens. “Hey, Buck”, Sam greets glumly.

“Hey, Sam.” Bucky sets three bags of groceries down in the kitchen, pausing in his steps to take a moment and stare. “Sam, are you sure you don’t wanna move up that appointment? You’re looking kind of sick.” In the mirror, Sam notes Bucky’s expression turning to one of fondness. “And not to be that guy, but I could stuff, like, five pillows with all the feathers you’re leaving around.”   
“I’m fine.” Sam rolls his eyes, hazarding lifting a wing before wincing and allowing it to settle once more. “And Saturday’s the earliest I can get in. Apparently, this is the month everybody’s feathers decided to start dropping.”

Bucky purses his lips before starting back for the door. “Yeah, well, take it easy. I’ll be back in a sec, okay, there’s some more bags downstairs.” He pauses in the doorway just as Sam’s turned around, instinctively moving to help. Bucky narrows his eyes and pointedly says, “Take it easy  _ and _ stay out of sight. You’re gonna give the neighbors a fucking heart attack”.

Sam crosses his arms over his chest, but Bucky’s already gone and made his way back down the hall. “Where’d you get the money to go shopping?”, he calls out. The downstairs door closes before he can get an answer. Sam rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the mirror.

All things considered, it could be worse. His molt back in the spring had been more severe than usual, so there’s less feathers to replace this time around. So instead of looking like a hairless rat, he just looks like a baby that’s had patches of feathers glued to its body. It’s not exactly pleasing to the eye, but definitely better on his self confidence.

The door opens once more. A witty retort is on Sam’s mouth, but it disappears, instead replaced with horrified silence at the sight of Steve making his way through the doorway. 

“Hey, Sam!”, he calls out with a light chuckle, using his foot to kick the door shut behind him. “Buck said you haven’t been able to go to the store, so we figured...” He fumbles with the bags in his arms, eyes widening as he breathes out, “Holy shit”.

In that moment, about a million things course through Sam. The one that bears the most weight is shame. Call him old-fashioned but he (usually) puts a lot of effort into keeping his wings well-groomed. And whenever he pictured revealing them to Steve, it’s always been when they were freshly primped and cleaned.

So for Steve to first see them whilst they’re  _ molting _ is nothing short of a nightmare. Instinctively, Sam moves to tuck his wings away, only to wince and whimper at the biting pain that immediately greets him.

“Sam”, Steve says softly, cut off by the door to the apartment suddenly slamming open, a disheveled, guilty-looking Bucky standing in its wake.

“Shit”, Bucky mutters, and Steve cuts his eyes to him, suspicion bright in his eyes. Bucky winces and covers his face with his hand. “We wanted to make you dinner. I forgot-”   
“You forgot?” Steve places his hands on his hips and scowls. “You knew about this, and you didn’t tell me?”   
Bucky returns the scowl with one of his own and retorts, “Hello, it wasn’t exactly my secret to tell. And, hey, you didn’t tell me that you knew Sam!”   
“I thought you were dead, dumbass, how would I have told you? And anyway...”

_ Shit. Shit, shit, shit. _ Sam takes a step back and then another. He’s overreacting. He knows he is. There are tons of Charges and Angels that have an active relationship with each other, and the Charges tend to take it well. But all the same, he can’t help the unceasing need to  _ flee _ .

So that’s what he does. He turns around and jumps out the window, intent on flying far, far away until he can better think on this.

Only, he doesn’t get very far before immediately plummeting. Which, duh, he doesn’t have any feathers. 

Sam cries out, narrowly catching himself on the railing of the apartment beneath them with a groan. He groans, rubbing what’s sure to be a nasty bruise, then freezes at the sound of Steve and Bucky calling after him.

“Sam?” He turns to his left, and there’s Clint, clad in a pair of bunny slippers and a fuzzy robe. He dunks the garbage bag he’s carrying in the trash and stares at Sam, wide-eyed. “What the hell are you doing out of the house?!”, he whispers frantically. “Someone could see you!”   
“Code Red, Clint”, Sam hisses, scrambling down the fire escape. “Code Fucking Red.”   
“Oh.  _ Oh. _ ” Clint holds open his arms, and Sam jumps into them. With a giant flap of his wings, Clint jumps over the railing and propels them into the Angel Realm.

. . .

“To be fair”, Clint says from where he’s plucking away at Sam’s feathers. “This could’ve all been avoided if you’d just listened to me and B.”

“God.” Sam drops his face into his hands and groans. “Oh, God, he  _ saw _ me.”

Clint lathers the underside of Sam’s left wing with something liquid and warm, then starts on the right one. “Sammy. This is Steve you’re talking about. He’s not gonna bail just because you’ve got wings.”   
“I know”, Sam sighs, his wings stretching closer to Clint’s touch; he won’t admit it, but the feel of Clint’s hands have always been quite soothing. Although, now that he thinks about it, that’s probably why Clint’s doing this. “But this...this changes everything.”   
Clint just hums. “Why?”   
Sam doesn’t answer.

Clint clicks his tongue, patting Sam by the back of his chair, and guides him over to the showers. “You know what I think”, Clint drawls, twisting the faucets until the water's gone warm. Gently, Clint grabs Sam by his arms and guides him underneath the spray of water, remaining by his side the whole time. “I think you’re worried about everything being out in the open now.” Clint slips some goggles over his eyes just as Sam’s wings begin tentatively flapping at the water falling around them. “You’re worried this is gonna be the last push those two need. You’re worried you’re gonna lose the both of them.”

“Is that so?”, Sam murmurs, arching his back with a light sigh.

“Is it?”

Sam just closes his eyes, forcing his attention onto the feel of old feathers being gently stripped from his wings. He sighs and takes a seat on the floor, crossing his legs before him as his wings begin to droop. At the very least, he can thank this whole disaster for getting him into his appointment a few days earlier.

“You can crash at my place”, Clint suggests, his own wings spreading wide, as if eager to catch every drop of water from above. He closes his eyes and leans against Sam’s. “Nat’s been asking about you anyway, said something about a poker rematch.”

Despite himself, Sam smiles. “I appreciate it, Clint. But I probably should get home.” He opens his eyes and stares out at the showerhead above him. “Buck always forgets where to put the dairy and fruits.”

Clint wraps a floppy, sopping wing around him, careful not to apply too much pressure to Sam’s. “My door’s always open”, he tells him softly.

Sam leans back against him and breathes. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading 😊😊😊. And lol, I couldn't let Sam keep it a secret forever. This was my favorite chapter to right, even moreso than Bucky's big reveal, and I had a lot of fun with that one, too.  
> Let me know what you think and I'll see y'all next week!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, I might come back and just edit this whole fic for like characterization and description because I'm not at all impressed with it. But for now, I hope y'all like it!

Sam stumbles in a little after three in the morning. He can tell from his bond that Steve’s not here, but there’s nothing to alert him to Bucky sitting in the lounge-chair in the corner.

He’s cold again, cold enough to have turned the entire apartment into something of a winter wonderland. And he looks...well, he looks about as comfortable as Sam feels. “Hey”, Bucky says, lip drawn between his teeth.

Sam lets his wings spill out of his back to wrap around himself. This is his second molting since Bucky moved in. He doesn’t feel quite as weird showing them to him. That and Clint’s always had great hands, so they don’t look as terrible as they had earlier. He closes the door behind him and starts towards Bucky. “Hey.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sam, I-”   
“It’s fine, Buck.” Sam takes a seat on the table before him and sighs. “I know you didn’t mean it.”   
“I had just seen you”, Bucky continues underneath his breath. “I’d just told you should see that salon, I should’ve-”

“Bucky.” Sam reaches out, setting a hand over Bucky’s. “It’s fine, really.” He wipes a hand over his face, a light, if somewhat exhausted, chuckle escaping him. “It’s probably better this way anyway. I’ve hated keeping this from him.” 

For years, he’s wanted nothing more than to be in Steve’s life, to be caught underneath his warm, sunny eyes. And then, when he finally had him, all he could think of was telling him. Just drop a glamour and lo and behold,

_ angel _ .

Pop culture’s painted them in the most excellent of lights, and sure, maybe Sam’s debut hadn’t gone necessarily the way he imagined, but it’s out there now. And wary may he feel, he can’t deny the relief in suddenly having the weight of the secret off his chest.

But things aren’t the same as they’d been. Because now he wants something else and just like, it’s like all that relief and all that happiness has been siphoned right out of him.

Maybe that’s just life. Always wanting for the next thing, only to quickly find yourself consumed with something else the moment you finally have it within your grasp.

“Sam”, Bucky says, drawing him out of his thoughts.   
Sam blinks and looks over at him.

Bucky’s eyelids are covered in frost, and his lips are so blue that if he’d been anyone else, Sam would think he’s on death’s doorstep. Bucky blinks, pieces of frost dislodging from his eyes before drifting to the floor, and quietly asks, “Are you okay?”

“...I don’t know.” Sam breathes, noting the gentle rise of his wings as he does so. “I just...I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”   
Bucky’s quiet for a long minute. And then he says, “This wasn’t just about Steve finding out you’re an Angel. Was it?” When Sam just remains silent, Bucky turns his hand upside down so that he’s gently holding Sam’s. “You’re not losing either of us. Tell me you know that.”

Sam just stares down at their hands. Bucky’s is practically transparent, and their embrace is cold enough to give Sam the distinct feeling of frostbite. He doesn’t pull it away. “I care about you guys”, he admits, giving Bucky’s hand a faint squeeze.   
“I know”, Bucky’s quick to say. “N-Nothing’s changing.”   
“Everything’s changing”, Sam retorts with a tired sigh.

“Hey.” Bucky drops his hand, instead lifting it to place it against Sam’s cheek. “I’m still here. You’re still here. And if you’d’ve stayed, you know that Steve’s still here, too, just a little confused.” He inhales, and then says, “Look, I know things have been weird lately, but that-that’s just cause we’re figurin’ out what we all are to each other again”.   
Sam just blinks. He focuses on the feel of Bucky’s freezing fingers against his cheek, eyelids fluttering as he allows himself to sink into their gelid touch. And then he asks, “What am I to you?”

The lights of the apartment flicker, and the air plummets. Bucky breathes, and then he’s leaning closer, pressing his lips softly against Sam’s. Sam lets out a trembly breath of his own, hands coming out to awkwardly rest against Bucky’s shoulders as he pushes himself into the kiss. 

Bucky’s lips are just as cold as the air that surrounds him. When he presses closer, it’s like Sam’s a hot body of water on a summer day and he a layer of ice, both intermingling into a state of near-homeostasis. Against all instinct, Sam presses closer, finding a chilling but comforting layer of frost settling deep within his bones.

When they’ve separated, Sam can’t help but remain as he is, as close as he is to him. Then, because it’s just occurred to him, he pulls himself away and splutters, “W-What about Steve?”

“Friends”, Bucky pants out, his lips curving into a shaky but hopeful smile. “We’re just friends.” He entangles his fingers in Sam’s and smiles. His chill has gone. Or maybe Sam’s just gotten used to it. Bucky’s cheeks blossom with color, alternating between red and blue before settling on blue. “We always have been.”   
“Oh.” Sam nods. “I thought…” He shakes his head, instead choosing to stand join Bucky in the lounge-chair. “Nevermind”, he breathes out; he presses against Bucky’s edges and curves, wings apprehensively wrapping around them both.

“Your wings really are pretty, you know”, Bucky whispers, wrapping his arm around Sam and pulling him ever closer.   
Sam leans against Bucky. He can’t tell if he’s cold or warm now. He just feels good. Sam smiles and closes his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but in that moment, he doesn’t have to.

. . .

Naturally, Steve stops by the apartment a few hours later. Bucky gives him a nod, then disappears into the wall leading to Sam’s room.

For a moment, they just stand there in silence. Then Sam blurts out, “For the record? They usually look way better than that”. Steve just blinks, so Sam clarifies. “My wings. I-I’m kind of molting.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Molting?”   
“It’s a bird thing.” Sam laughs airily and wipes a hand over his face. “Uh. I know you’ve probably got some questions.”

“Only like a million”, Steve says with a snort. He moves his hands from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest. Then, softly muttering to himself, he places them on his hips. His eyes are soft, albeit nervous, when he asks, “Are you okay?”   
“Yeah. I just…” He shakes his head, watching as Steve shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and gestures to the couch. “Sit down, man. You’re making me nervous.”

. . .

Sam’s spent years wondering how he would tell Steve about being an Angel. As it turns out, it only takes fifteen minutes.

And as it turns out, Steve takes it surprisingly well.

“So Clint’s an Angel, too?”, he asks, eyebrows drawn together. Sam nods, wincing as he recalls his frantic flight from the apartment the day before. He could’ve done with a lot more discretion in that moment.

“And here I thought I was good at keeping secrets.”

“Steve, you’re terrible at keeping secrets” Sam says, rolling his eyes and feeling lighter than he has in a while. He dances his fingers across his knee, then adds, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner”.

Steve just shakes his head. “It’s fine, Sam. If anyone knows about how hard it is to separate work from their personal life, it’s me.” He trails off, seeming hesitant, before tentatively asking, “Does it hurt? When you hide them?”

Sam blinks. He shifts in his seat, thinking on it. “No. Not really”, he says, tilting his head to the side. “It’s not really comfortable, but it doesn’t hurt either.” He’d say it’s like wearing clothes a few sizes too small, but it’s a little more than that. It’s more like...like your leg falling asleep when you’ve put too much weight upon it.

“I know I kinda freaked out last night”, Steve says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “I wasn’t...I was surprised, not weirded out or anything.” His leg begins to bounce. “You can have them out around me is what I’m trying to say. If you want! I-If you’re not comfortable, I get that, I know you’re used to keeping them hidden.”

Sam watches him. In the back of his mind, there’s a cry, a screaming need to remain hidden. But he ignores it, sighing shakily as he lets his wings  _ breathe _ . He rolls his shoulders and smiles shyly over at Steve.    
Steve smiles back. “They’re beautiful.”

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes. “They’re hideous, Stevie.”

“Yes but they’re a nice hideous. Like those shoes you like.” He ducks underneath the throw pillow Sam tosses at him, chuckling lightly. “Okay. So we’re...so we’re cool?”   
“Yeah, man.” Sam stretches out his wings, his chest swelling with pride at the awe that widens Steve’s eyes. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

Steve nods, now allowing his gaze to drift to where Bucky had disappeared. “Are...are you and Bucky okay?”

A ruffle passes through Sam’s feathers. “Uh…”, he begins, chuckling.

Steve gives him a knowing look. “You guys’ll be good for each other.” He reaches out, tossing one arm over his shoulder.

Sam leans into the embrace and takes in a deep breath. When he goes to release it, he finds his shoulders feeling a hundred times lighter.

It’s a good feeling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks!  
> I'm just kidding. Epilogue's going up next week. Kinda bittersweet. I am sad it's ending but also excited cuz now I can start posting my Mantis/Nebula fic (and maybe a Zuko fic but I'm still deciding on a release date).  
> Anyway, it's been fun. Let me know what you think and I'll see y'all again next week 😘😘😘.


	17. Chapter 17

“So Friday?”, Sarah asks, her screen shaking as she closes what looks like the door to their old apartment behind her. 

“Friday”, Sam chuckles. He smiles, watching as the ever-familiar sight of oakwood floors and tacky wallpaper flashes behind Sarah as she weaves her way through the apartment. “How are the kids?”

“Oh, they’re sweethearts-”

“Except for Laurie!”, Jody calls out, his face briefly appearing before ducking away. 

“They miss you”, Sarah says, rolling her eyes. “So ya ass better show.”   
“Don’t worry, don’t worry.” Sam rolls over onto his back, comforted by the feel of his wings cushioned against the silk sheets beneath him. He closes his eyes, sits his phone down beside him, and breathes in. “Giddy’s gonna be there, right?” 

“‘Course, he is. You know, the kids aren’t the only ones who missed you.” 

Sam’s heart clenches in his chest. “Yeah, I know”, he says quietly before tacking on, “And I missed you guys, too”. His eyes peel open, and he bites his lip, a snort escaping him at the sound of Laurie and Jody shouting in the background. “‘Sweethearts’”, he chuckles.

“Remind me, how are those Avenger friends of yours again?”

“They’re just swell, smartass. They haven’t flipped off the U.S. government or Betelgeused the neighbors in hours.”

“You must be so proud”, Sarah drawls. “Listen, I’ve gotta go mediate. Gimme the number to that salon, okay?”    
Sam picks up his phone and nods. “Yeah, I got you.”

“Kids, say ‘bye’ to Uncle Sam”, Sarah shouts, followed by two giggly, “Bye, Uncle Sam!”s.

Sam just rolls his eyes. “Bye, y’all.” And with that, he ends the call. 

He lies there for a moment, smiling at the thought of spending some long-overdue time with his family, before the tell-tale feel of cold washing over the apartment meets him. By this point, it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it used to. Rather, it feels akin to the same sensation of turning on the heating, about as comfortable and welcoming as a thing can be. 

Bucky ambles about before his head pokes through the wall, his body remaining between spaces.

“Hey, creeper”, Sam murmurs, and Bucky just beams before the rest of his body follows, collapsing onto the bed beside Sam. He pulls Sam close, and Sam hums, content as he allows his chilly arm to find themselves around his waist. “You’re sweaty.”

Bucky just snorts and presses closer. “Steve wanted to run an extra few miles.”   
Yeah, he can imagine. He’s been plenty competitive lately, now that he knows Sam’s a better runner than he initially let on. “Did you have fun?”   
He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Bucky’s smiling. “Yeah, it was nice.”   
Sam smiles, too. It’d been weird at first, not gonna lie. But the fact that he no longer has to hide his friends from each other, well, it’s definitely helped alleviate some of the awkwardness. 

“You know what I would love?”, Bucky suddenly asks, pressing his lips to the base of his spine, right between his wings.

Sam shudders, arching into the touch before saying, “Some plums". When he feels Bucky’s lips curve up into a smile, he rolls his eyes. "Not to disappoint, babe, but i think they're out of season." Bucky just hums, lifting his hand to gently comb his fingers through the field of feathers before him. A content sigh escapes Sam’s mouth, and he turns around so that they’re face-to-face. He opens his mouth, about to ask something silly like what it’s like to be a ghost in the middle of winter, when his phone suddenly chirps.

He scowls and raises his eyebrows at Buck, who just smiles and shrugs. Sam scoops the phone up from behind him, unlocks the screen, and instantly feels dread pool in his stomach as the preview of an article about the Winter Soldier flickers across his screen.

“What is it?”, Bucky asks, head tilted to the side.

“N-Nothing”, Sam murmurs, passing the phone to him. “I just...I think you’ve got a fan.”   
Bucky stares, expression waring between unimpressed and annoyed, before sharply saying, “Well, that’s a problem”.

His phone chirps once more, no doubt a text from Steve. Sam gently grabs the phone from him, then sets it aside on his dresser. “We’ll figure it out”, he assures him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Hardly anyone even knows you’re actually alive.”

But Bucky’s gone quiet. And he won’t look at him. And all at once, the room feels like the North Pole. Sam scoots wraps his arms around Bucky. After a moment, Bucky sinks into the embrace, breathing heavily as he does so. “We’ll figure it out”, Sam repeats. He doesn’t know how or where to start or even who the impostor is. But he knows that they’ve got this.

He’s not quite sure if Bucky shares the sentiment, but he does bury his hand in the cloth of Sam’s sweats. And when he looks up at Sam, his eyes are hard, an unearthly shade of blue washing over his irises. Bucky nods, and Sam nods. Wherever they go from here, it’ll be together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Civil War happens, but it's a happy ending. Sam still gets to meet with his family, and Bucky gets his plums. Yay.  
> I know the writing for this fic hasn't been my greatest. Even before I posted, I was having a hard time with this (which was probably the reason I deleted it the first time, hindsight's 20/20), but with everything that's been going on lately, it was just really difficult finding the motivation to give this the care that it needed. That being said, I am still proud for seeing this through. It may not've been what I wanted, but I was still able to write it, and I mean that feels pretty good.   
> Honestly, just thank you to everyone for reading or in any other way interacting with this story. The struggle's been real, and it's definitely helped to know there were people out there who actually liked what I was writing. Sambucky's still an otp of mine, and I definitely have plans to one day give them a worthy story, but for the moment, it's been fun, and I really appreciate every single one of you.  
> So that's it! Next week either my Zuko or Bugborg fic is going up (probably the Zuko) and I'm hoping the change in story'll help me get back on the writing horse. Thanks for reading.


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